LITMIR.BIZ

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okay. What do you need me to do to help? With all those nieces and nephews, I’m not totally inept.”

      “Unless you’re lactating, I don’t think you can help with this.”

      Lactating? Breast-feeding?

      Ohhhh-kay. He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. “I’ll wait downstairs for the delivery guy to bring supper.”

      She bounced the baby gently on her shoulder, his whimpers growing louder, more insistent. “The back entrance is just at the other end of the garden alleyway. Take the keys off the tea cart on your way out.”

      “Roger that. Wilco—” Will comply. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so.”

      Pulling the door closed behind him, he stepped back into the waning Mardi Gras mayhem. The tail end of the parade blinked in the distance, the crowd following and dispersing. He scooped up a couple of strands of beads and a feathered mask that must have strayed over the gate. He wanted her out of here, somewhere safer. She had enough on her plate taking care of the little guy without worrying about someone scaling that fence one night.

      He sidestepped the round iron table and chairs, decorated with a few potted plants and hanging ferns. Chick-pretty but not safe. He eyed the shadowy alleyway, not impressed with security. And he would damn well do something about it.

      Reaching the back gate, he leaned against the brick wall to wait and fished out his phone. He thumbed through the directory until he landed on the name he needed. He hit Call. The youngest of his four stepbrothers worked renovations of historical landmark homes. Even a couple of foreign castles.

      For right now, he would settle for something more local.

      The ringing stopped.

      “Hey there, stranger,” his stepbrother Jonah Landis answered from on location at heaven only knew where. Jonah’s projects spanned the globe. “Welcome home.”

      “Thanks, good to be back.” Or rather it would be once he got some things straightened out. He needed to put to rest the feelings he had for Gabrielle and figure out a way out from under the guilt.

      “How much longer until the base cuts you free for some vacation time?”

      “Actually—” he crossed one loafer-clad foot over the other “—that’s what I’m calling you about. I’m visiting a friend in New Orleans, and I’m hoping you can hook me up with a place to stay.”

      “What exactly are the parameters?”

      Parameters? Privacy topped the list. His father was a retired general who’d been on the Joint Chiefs of Staff and now served as a freelance military correspondent for a major cable network. His stepmom—Ginger Landis Renshaw—was a former secretary of state, now an ambassador.

      He hadn’t grown up with that kind of influence. And even once his family stepped into the limelight, he’d lived a Spartan life, socking away most of his paychecks and investing well, very well. He could retire now, except that military calling to serve couldn’t be denied. Even his family didn’t know his full net worth. Only that his investments left him “comfortably” well off, enough to explain if he spent beyond a military paycheck.

      Which he rarely did. But he needed something private. A place for Max to recover from his surgery, a place where Gabrielle would have help before she collapsed from trying to tackle everything on her own.

      “Jonah, I seem to recall you were starting a renovation down here in New Orleans right before I deployed.”

      “Right, a historic mansion in the garden district that got whacked by a hurricane. It’s an Italianate cast-iron galleried-style—”

      “Right. I just need to know if it’s finished and if it has a security system.”

      “Finished, security system installed last week, up for sale with bare bones furniture to help prospective buyers envision themselves living there.”

      Sounded perfect. “Think you can pull it off the market for a couple of weeks?”

      “Any reason you’re looking for a house rather than a hotel?”

      “Hotels are noisy and nosey.”

      “Fair enough. What’s mine is yours.”

      “I mean this as a business transaction. I insist on paying.”

      “Really, bro, we’re good.” Jonah paused for a second, the sound of sheets rustling and him speaking with his wife about going to the other room. “Seriously, though, why call me? Any of mom’s or the general’s people could have taken care of a low-profile place to stay.”

      Truth was easy this time. “Ginger would have heard about it, whether from her people or the general. She would have questions… .”

      “There’s a woman involved.” Jonah laughed softly.

      No need denying that. And heaven forbid, he mention the baby and Grandma Ginger—his stepmom—would come running straight to New Orleans. “I want this to stay quiet for a while. The last thing I need is the press or our family breathing down my neck, not now.”

      “Understood.” Of course he did. Jonah Landis’s wife had royal ties as the illegitimate daughter of a deposed king. Privacy was a valuable commodity in short supply for them. “I can have the Realtor bring you the keys now.”

      “No need to disrupt anyone’s Mardi Gras. I’ll swing by tomorrow and get them myself.”

      “Party on, then.”

      “Thank you. I appreciate this.”

      “We’re family, even if you hide out from the rest of us. Good to hear from you, bro.”

      And they were. Even if by marriage. His dad and his second wife, Ginger, had built something together after both of their spouses died. Hank looked up the iron stairs at the closed door leading to Gabrielle’s apartment. She needed his help, just the way Ginger and Hank, Sr., had needed help with their kids. They’d turned to each other rather than go it alone. That’s what friends did for each other.

      Whether Gabrielle wanted his help or not, he was all in.

      Gabrielle yanked her clothes off fast and tossed them all in the bathroom laundry hamper. Her knee bumped the sink. She bit back a curse, hopping around on one foot and trying not to fall into the tub in the closet-size bathroom. Any minute now, Hank could walk back up with supper and she needed to clean up after feeding Max. No bachelor was going to want to hear about—or smell—baby puke.

      She didn’t have time for a shower but at least she could splash some water on her face and change clothes. Not that she cared what she looked like around him. She was just excited over her first real meal with another adult since Max was born. Silly, selfish and she had to remember this wasn’t a real dinner date.

      Just supper with an old, uh, friend?

      Oh, God, she was a mess. She sagged back against the sink. No amount of face washing or hair brushing was going to change the fact that she was a single mom, who wore nursing bras and eau de baby. Nothing was going to change that. She didn’t want to change that, damn it.

      Even if Kevin had somehow given her permission to fall for his best friend. The realization that he’d somehow known clawed at her already guilty conscience and made her feel like a huge fraud.

      Frustrated and running out of time, she yanked on a pair of black stretch pants and tugged a long tank tee over her head. She grabbed a bottle of lavender spray she’d bought because it was supposed to be calming, soothing and she’d been searching for any help to relax her son.

      Tonight, she needed some of that peace for herself. She spritzed her body fast, spraying an extra pump over her head and spinning to capture the drift. She scrubbed her hair back into a high ponytail just as she heard the front door open.

      Time’s up.

      Her

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