Gabriel's Honor. Barbara McCauley
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could jump it, but this battery is toast, and it wouldn’t hold.”
She’d moved beside him to watch what he’d been doing, and his words made her eyes close on a heavy sigh. Her shoulders sagged as if she carried the weight of the world there. The top of her head lined up with his chin and he looked down at her, caught the faint scent of flowers again, subtle, but sweet. Unwillingly he drew the scent in, held it.
When she opened her eyes again, she turned and looked up at him. Her composure was back, the anger that had sparked her eyes when she’d been yelling was gone now, in its place, a weary acceptance. The faint smudge of circles under her eyes told him she hadn’t slept well. Strangely, and much to his annoyance, he hadn’t slept well, either.
He’d told himself last night, then all the way over here that he didn’t give a damn if she was still at the house when he got here this morning. He had work to do, and a woman and kid would just be in the way. He liked working alone, which was why he’d chosen renovating homes for Sinclair Construction instead of working in the office, which was Callan’s department, or new construction, which Lucian seemed to enjoy.
On a bigger job, like the Witherspoon house, Gabe would work often with a small crew, but usually he worked by himself. Came and went as he pleased, worked at his own pace, and rarely had to watch over anyone or ride herd. He’d done enough of that trying to keep the family together after his parents had died, and with a fifteen-year-old stubborn, independent sister to raise, he’d more than had his hands full.
He liked being alone now. He liked the quiet, the calm. No responsibilities but his own.
“Thank you,” Melanie said, pulling Gabe from his wandering mind. “I’ll handle it from here.”
“I can call the repair shop in town,” he offered. “Have them deliver a battery.”
Shaking her head, she forced a smile, and much to Gabe’s relief, folded her arms over her breasts. “Thanks, but I’d rather take care of this myself.”
She wanted to take care of everything herself, Gabe thought with annoyance. And while that was an admirable trait, it could also be carried just a little too far.
He closed the hood, offered her the cup of coffee in his hands. When she opened her mouth to say no, he shoved it at her. “You’re cold,” he said firmly. “This is hot. Drink it.”
She hesitated, then wrapped her hands around the mug and brought it to her mouth. Gabe felt an unwilling tug of desire when her lips touched the brim, and when she licked those lips a moment later and smiled at him, the tug turned sharp.
And that irritated him more than Melanie’s stubborn independence.
“Is it a husband?” he asked tightly, watched her smile fade.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you running away from a husband?” He had to know, dammit. He had to know.
She handed the cup back to him. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Sinclair. I know you have work to do, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my son.”
“Look, Melanie—” He started to reach for her, but when she stiffened, he drew his hand back. “Dammit, I don’t even know your last name.”
She turned, walked to the door, then paused before she turned back. “Hart,” she said quietly. “My name is Melanie Hart.”
She was gone then, though he heard the crunch of her boots on the path leading to the house, then the quiet squeak of the back screen door.
He looked at the coffee cup in his hand, resisted the urge to throw it against something.
She didn’t want his help. Fine. Just fine. Let her figure it out herself.
Dammit.
He tossed back a gulp of coffee, then stared at the spot where her lips had touched.
Dammit, dammit.
Still muttering curses, he walked back to his truck and drove away.
From inside the house, Melanie heard the roar of Gabe’s truck engine, then the spin of wheels as he drove off. She hadn’t wanted to be rude, it wasn’t in her nature at all. If anything, she’d been overly polite her entire life, which had partly created the horrible mess she was in now. She’d said yes too many times, let too many people tell her what to do and how to do it. She knew she was overcompensating by refusing to accept any help now, but she didn’t know what else to do. She wasn’t certain she had enough money left for a battery, and she certainly couldn’t expect strangers to loan her money, though that was exactly what Gabe’s sister had offered to do last night.
It was so damn humiliating. So damn frustrating.
She’d told Cara only the barest facts about her situation last night, that she’d left a difficult situation with a dominating mother-in-law behind her in California, that she was trying to make a new life for herself and Kevin as far away from there as she could get. That she wanted, needed, to make it on her own, without any help.
But she hadn’t told Cara what extremes Louise had gone to, or would go to. She hadn’t told her about Vincent Drake, her mother-in-law’s so-called business manager who was no more than a hired thug, a monster that Louise had employed to see that the recalcitrant daughter-in-law and her grandson came back home.
Melanie couldn’t tell Cara any of that, there was no reason to involve any more innocent people. Melanie had already seen what happened to anyone who tried to help her. One friend had already suffered a broken arm and black eye for helping her, another had been threatened. And the fire.
She shuddered thinking what might have happened if the fire department hadn’t arrived at her apartment so quickly after Vincent had lit that match to her drapes. How many people might have lost their homes and belongings, maybe even their lives? She couldn’t let anyone else be hurt because of her.
She just needed to get to Raina’s. Louise didn’t know about her best friend. With the new ID and a fake social security number Melanie had purchased from the back room of a seedy bar in Los Angeles, she and Kevin would start a new life. She was Melanie Hart now. She never wanted to be Melissa Van Camp again. That woman no longer existed.
But if she was ever going to get to Boston, she had to get her car fixed first. And she intended to do that, only she was suddenly so tired, she couldn’t think straight.
She moved into the living room and sat down beside her still sleeping son. She watched him, let her gaze wander over his dimpled cheeks and short freckled nose, felt the peace come over her. She laid her head back and closed her eyes.
She just needed a few minutes of rest, she thought. Then her mind would be clear. She’d gotten Kevin and herself this far.
She had no intention of giving up now.
Chapter 3
“You’ve been a bad girl, Melanie,” Vincent whispered. “A bad, bad girl.”
Like a snake, his voice slithered up from the darkness. She couldn’t see him, but she felt him, felt the icy-cold hiss of his breath on her neck.
Run! her mind screamed, but the dirt under her feet turned to mud and sucked at her legs, drawing her down into the thick muck. Her arms hung like lead at her sides, useless, helpless.
Kevin ran out of the thick forest toward her, smiling, his arms raised. She opened her mouth to scream, tell him to run away, but no sound came.
“You know what happens to bad girls?” Vincent warned, his disembodied voice low and sinister. “Shall I show you?”
Powerless to stop him, she heard her own whimper. Like a spider’s legs, his fingers brushed over her cheek, then wrapped around her neck.
Still smiling, Kevin jumped into her arms, but she couldn’t catch him, couldn’t hold him…
Melanie jerked awake, her heart