Honorable Intentions Read online

  In a flash, Hank tugged her diaper bag from her overburdened shoulder. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and draped it around her before she could form the words no, thanks. She’d worn Kevin’s leather jacket dozens of times. One coat should feel much like the other. But it didn’t. Hank’s darn near swallowed her whole, wrapping her in warmth and the scent of him.

  Kevin and Hank may have crewed together on a B-52, but their temperaments were total opposites. Kevin had been all about laughter and fun, enticing her to step away from her studies and experience life. Hank was more…intense.

  His steady steps echoed behind her as she climbed the steps all the way to the third-floor apartment. After a long day at the hospital facing her fears and making mammoth decisions alone, the support felt good, too good. She fumbled with her keys again. Hank’s jacket slid off and cool night air breezed over her. He snagged the leather coat before it hit the ground.

  She pushed open the front door, toed off her shoes and tossed her keys on the refinished tea cart against the wall. The wide-open space stretched in front of her, with high ceilings and wood floors, her shabby-chic decor purchased off craigslist. She slept six steps up in a loft. The nursery, tucked in a nook, sported the only new furniture, a rich mahogany crib covered by blue bedding with clouds and airplanes.

  Her studio apartment had been so perfect when she’d launched her dream of coming to the States to pursue her MBA. Since Max had been born, the place had become increasingly impractical. She’d considered caving to her parents’ repeated requests to come home, but she’d held strong. She had money saved and a decent income from designing business websites.

  Then the world had collapsed in on her. Her baby was born needing surgery for a digestive birth defect—to repair his pyloric valve.

  “Gabrielle…” Hank’s deep bass filled the cavernous room, mixing with the reverb from the parade vibrating the floor.

  “Shh.” She lifted her sleeping son from the sling and settled him in his crib, patting his back until he relaxed again.

  One more swipe, and she smoothed Max’s New Orleans Saints onesie. She cranked the airplane mobile to play a familiar sound over the noise from below. A familiar tune chimed from the mobile, “Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket.”

  A fierce protectiveness stung her veins, more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced before Max. She skimmed her fingers over his dusting of light brown hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead, breathing in the sweet perfume of baby shampoo and powder. She would do anything for her son.

  Anything.

  Weariness fell away, replaced by determination. She pulled the gauzy privacy curtain over the nook and faced Hank. “Now, we can talk. Max should sleep for another twenty minutes before he needs to eat.”

  Her son ate small amounts often because of the too-narrow opening from his stomach into his intestines. But hopefully the upcoming operation would fix that, enabling Max to thrive. If her frail baby survived the surgery.

  Hank dropped the diaper bag on the scarred pine table near the efficiency kitchen and draped his jacket over a chair. “Is the kid Kevin’s?”

  His question caught her off guard, and she whipped around to face him. She’d expected anything but that. The doubt on his rugged face hurt her more than she wanted to admit.

  Memories of happier times tormented her with how much she’d lost. The way they’d been coconspirators in reining in the more impulsive Kevin. How he’d helped Kevin rig a pool game so she would win—only to have her beat the socks off him all on her own the next round.

  “Hank, you know me.” Or she’d thought he did. “Do you really have to ask?”

  “Between my sisters and my stepbrothers procreating like rabbits, I’ve burped a lot of babies. Your little guy looks like a newborn. It’s twelve months since we shipped out.” He shook his head, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the back of a chair. “The math doesn’t work.”

  Her anger rose in spite of the fact he had a point about her son’s small size. “Really? You think you know everything, don’t you? Do you actually believe I would cheat on Kevin?”

  Although hadn’t she? If only in her thoughts.

  “You wouldn’t be the first woman to find somebody new once her guy shipped out.”

  “Well, I didn’t.” She crossed her arms tightly over her stomach. Her heart had been too confused to consider looking at another man. “Max is small because he has pyloric stenosis, a digestive disorder that has to be corrected by surgery.”

  Fear leached some of the starch from her spine. She sagged back against the corner hutch that held all her school supplies and books.

  Anger faded from his face, his brow furrowing. Hank reached toward her, stopping just shy of cupping her face before his hand fell away. “Gabrielle, I’m so sorry. What can I do to help? Specialists? Money?”

  She stopped him short, sympathy threatening to unravel her tenuous control. “I can handle Max’s medical needs. I have insurance through the school. And you won’t need your specialists to covertly check his age.” Yes, she couldn’t help but be suspicious of his offer. “His birth date is public record. He was born eight months after you and Kevin flew out. Max is four months old.”

  “So you were in your first trimester when he was killed. Did you not know about the baby when Kevin died?”

  She swallowed hard. That, she couldn’t deny. She’d lied through omission. “I knew.”

  “Why didn’t you tell him before he died?”

  How dare he stand there so handsome, self righteous and alive? She let her grief find an outlet in anger. “You two may have been friends, but my reasons are really none of your business.”

  His jaw flexed and he scrubbed a hand over his close-shorn hair. “You’re right. They’re not.”

  His nod of agreement deflated her anger. How could she explain when all of her reasons sounded silly to her own ears now? She’d been scared, and confused, delaying until it had been too late to tell Kevin. If he’d known, would he have been more careful? There was no way to answer that. She would have to live with that guilt for the rest of her life.

  She tugged Hank’s jacket from the chair and thrust it toward him. “You checked on me. Consider the friendship obligations complete. You should just go. It’s late and you’ve got to be exhausted from your trip back. And honestly, I’ve had a long day with no time to eat.”

  A day full of stress on top of the exhaustion of feeding Max every two hours through the night.

  She pushed the leather jacket against his chest. “It has been nice seeing you again. Good night.”

  He cupped a hand over hers. “I’m here to check on you, like I promised Kevin. And apparently my coming by was a good thing. Kevin would have provided for his child. He would want him to live in more than a one-room apartment.”

  Her head snapped back at the insult. “Back to the money again? I don’t recall you being this rude before.”

  “And I don’t remember you being this defensive.”

  Toe to toe, she stood him down. “I may not have the Renshaw portfolio and political connections, but I work hard to provide for my son, and I happen to think I’m doing a damn fine job.”

  Her anger and frustration pumped adrenaline through her, her nerves tingling with a hyper-awareness of Hank until she realized… He still had his hand on top of hers. Skin to skin, his warmth seeped into the icy fear that had chilled her for so long she worried nothing would chase it away. Her exhausted body crackled with memories and heated with something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Desire.

  An answering flame heated in Hank’s eyes a second before his expression went neutral. “Did you mean what you said about being hungry? Let me order us some dinner to make up for being rude.”

  “Dinner? With you?” She hadn’t shared a meal with him since two days before he’d left for his deployment.

  Since the night she’d kissed Hank Renshaw.

  Two

  Hank saw the m
emory of that one kiss reflected in Gabrielle’s eyes. One moment of weakness that dogged him with guilt to this day.

  She’d driven up to his base in Bossier City to say goodbye to Kevin before their deployment. The three of them had planned to go out to lunch together. But at the last minute, she had an argument with Kevin and he stood her up. Hank had bought her burgers and listened while she poured her heart out. He’d held strong until she started crying, then he’d hugged her and…

  Damn it. He still didn’t know who’d kissed whom first, but he blamed himself. Honor dictated he owed Kevin better this time.

  Furrows trenched deeper into Gabrielle’s forehead. “You plan to order dinner, in the middle of Mardi Gras?”

  “Or we can leave and eat somewhere else. There’s got to be a back entrance to this building.” He kept talking to keep her from booting him out on his butt. “We can pack up the kid and go someplace quiet. It’s not like he’ll be able to sleep with all that Mardi Gras racket.”

  “This area’s rarely quiet. He’s used to it.”

  “Then, I’ll order something in.” He tossed his jacket back over the chair.

  “Which brings us back to my original question. Who’s going to deliver here? Now?”

  He didn’t bother answering the obvious.

  She sighed. “Renshaw influence.”

  Influence? An understatement. But making use of it now was a rare perk in the weight of being a Renshaw.

  “I guess even I would deliver a meal in this mayhem if someone paid me enough.” She held up both hands fast. “But you’re leaving.”

  He pulled out his iPhone as if she hadn’t spoken. “What do you want to eat? Come on. I’ve been overseas eating crappy mess hall food and M.R.E.s for a year. Pick something fast and don’t bother saying no. You’re hungry. I’m hungry. Why argue?”

  Hugging herself, she stared back at him, indecision shifting through her eyes. She was stubborn and determined, but then so was he. So he stood and waited her out.

  Finally, she nodded, seeming to relax that steely spine at least a little. “Something simple, not spicy.”

  “No spices? In New Orleans.”

  She laughed and the sweet sound of it sliced right through him as it had before. He’d deluded himself into thinking his memory had exaggerated his reaction to her. And yet here he stood, totally hooked in by the sound of her laughter. Whatever she wanted, he would make it happen. He thumbed the number for a local French restaurant his stepmother frequented and rattled off his order from the five-star establishment. His dad’s new wife brought hefty political weight to the family. And politicians needed privacy.

  Order complete, he thumbed the phone off. “Done. They’ll be downstairs in a half hour.”

  She placed her hands over his jacket on the chair, her fingers curling into the leather. “Thank you, this really is thoughtful.”

  “So I’m forgiven for my question about Max’s father?” The answer was important. Too much so. Jazz music, cheers and air horns blared from below, filling the heavy silence.

  “Forgiven.” She nodded tightly, her fingers digging deeper into the coat. “You’re a good man. I know that. You’re just stubborn and a little pushy.”

  “I’m a lot pushy.” The only way to forge his own path in a strong-willed family full of overachievers. “But you’re hungry and tired, so let me take charge for a while.”

  “Look that good do I?” She rolled her eyes as she walked past him and dropped into an overstuffed chair.

  Curled up with her long legs tucked under her, she looked…beautiful, vulnerable. He wanted to kiss her and wrap her in silk all at the same time, which she’d already made clear she didn’t want from him.

  So he would settle for getting her fed, and hopefully along the way, figure out why she had dark circles under her eyes that seemed deeper than from a lack of sleep. He crouched in front of her. “You look like a new mom who hasn’t been getting much rest.”

  And she looked like a woman still in mourning.

  Her eyes stayed on the nursery nook, the crib a shadowy outline behind the mosquito net privacy curtain. “He has to eat more often, smaller meals to keep down any food at all.”

  There was no missing the pain and fear in her voice. Right now it wasn’t about him. Or even Kevin. It was about her kid. “When was the problem diagnosed?”

  “At his six-week checkup we suspected something wasn’t right.” She adjusted a framed photo, the newborn kind of scrunch-faced kid with a blue stocking cap. “He wasn’t gaining weight the way he should. By two months, the doctors knew for sure. Since then, it’s been a balancing act, trying to get him stronger for surgery, but knowing he can only thrive so much without the operation.”

  With every word she said, he became more convinced driving here had been the right thing to do. She needed him.

  “That has to be scary to face alone. Is your family flying out?”

  “They came over when he was born. There’s only so much time they can take off from work, especially since I live so far away.” She set the photo down and crossed her arms again, closed up tight. “They offered to let me live at home, but I need to finish school. We’re settled in a routine here with our doctors and my job.”

  “How do you hold down a job, go to school and take care of a baby?”

  “I do web design for corporations—something I can do from home.” She waved at the hutch in the corner. “Half my classes are online. Max spends very little time with a sitter, an older lady who works part-time at the antique store downstairs. She comes here to watch him when I’m away. I’m lucky.”

  Lucky? A single mom running herself into the ground to care for a sick child considered herself lucky? Or just so damn independent she refused to admit she was in over her head?

  “What about Kevin’s family? Are they helping?”

  Her chin thrust out. “They don’t want anything to do with Max. They say he’s too painful a reminder of their son.”

  Hank should have figured as much. The one time he’d met Kevin’s family, they’d come across as self-absorbed, more into their vacation than their son. More likely they were ignoring Max because he interfered with their retirement plans. “At least Max has his father’s life insurance money.”

  She stayed silent. Her fist unfurled to flick the gold fringe on a throw pillow.

  Damn. He sat up straighter. “They did give him the money, right? Or at least some of it?”

  “Kevin didn’t know Max existed.” She folded her hands carefully on her knees. “Kevin’s parents were listed as his beneficiaries.”

  “I’ll speak to them. And if they don’t come through it shouldn’t take much to contest—”

  “My son and I are getting along fine,” she interrupted. “We don’t need their money.”

  Prideful? Needing to forge your own path? He understood that. Which made him the perfect person to help her. “You’re doing an admirable job by yourself. I didn’t mean to insinuate otherwise. I only meant that it can’t be easy.”

  “That’s an understatement.” She smiled wryly.

  “What about your parents?”

  “Hello? I thought we already settled this. I’m fine.”

  “No one should have to carry a load like this by themselves. I recall from Kevin that your parents are good people.” Although they lived an ocean away, in Germany.

  “They are, and I did consider going home right after I found out I was pregnant. But I was already knee-deep in my graduate studies when I found out about Max. Sure, things are tight now, but I need to finish my degree, my best hope for providing a good future for my son.”

  “About those dark circles…?”

  “I’ll sleep after Max has his surgery because he won’t be hungry all the time. He will feel happy, content… .” Unshed tears glinted in her eyes. “I have to believe he’ll be okay.”

  Her tears undid him now just as much as they had a year ago. He shifted from the sofa to crouch in front of her. He took her ha
nds in his, her soft hands that had once tunneled into his hair, then down to score his back. Except now those nails were chewed with worry.

  And he had to fix that. He couldn’t let her go on this way alone with no one to help her. Staring at her bitten-off fingernails, he knew exactly what he had to do.

  “That’s the reason you’re staying here rather than going to your parents, isn’t it? Once you found out he was sick, moving to another country…”

  “I couldn’t start the medical process over again and waste precious weeks, days even. We’re here, and we’ll get through it.”

  He squeezed her hands. “But you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m on leave for the next two weeks. I’ll stay in New Orleans. I owe it to Kevin to be a stand-in father for Max.”

  * * *

  A stand-in father?

  Gabrielle froze inside. Outside. She couldn’t move or speak. She’d barely gotten over the shock of Hank showing up here unannounced and now he’d said this? That he wanted to be some kind of replacement for Kevin with Max?

  There had to be something else going on here. She’d heard of survivor’s guilt. That wasn’t healthy for him—or for her. “Hank, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here. But Max already has a father, and he’s dead.”

  His grip tightened around hers, almost painful. “Believe me, I know that better than anyone else.” His throat moved in a slow swallow. “I was there.”

  Oh, my God. “When he died?”

  “Yeah… .” His grip loosened, his thumbs twitching along her palms.

  His head dropped, and he looked down at their clasped hands, the strong column of his neck exposed. Her eyes held on the fade of his military cut. And strangely, she ached to touch him there, to stroke and comfort him. To hold on to him and let him hold on to her, too. They’d both suffered the loss of Kevin, and right now that pain linked them so tightly it brought the crippling ache rushing back full force.

  Please, don’t let her reach for him, which would have her crying all over his chest. The hint of tears a minute ago had brought him here in front of her…and when she’d cried before, they’d betrayed a man they both cared so much about.