Nothing had changed.

He was still totally hooked on Gabrielle. Bad enough before when she and Kevin had been engaged. But now one glance at her made memories of his dying friend roil in his gut.

Hank needed to check on Gabrielle as he’d promised Kevin he would, pass along his friend’s final words, then punch out of her life for good.

“Hank, what are you doing here?” Her emerald-green eyes went wide.

Again he felt an all-too-familiar snap of awareness. It happened every time she crossed his path, the same draw that had tugged him the first time he’d seen her at a squadron formal.

One look at her then, in the ice-blue dress, and every cell in his body had shouted mine. Seconds later Kevin had joined them, introducing her as the love of his life. Still, right now, those cells in Hank kept on staking their claim.

“I’m here for you,” he said.

Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled to have a book included in the BILLIONAIRES AND BABIES series! As a mother of four children well past their infancy, I found it a sentimental treat to revisit the precious baby years through a story.

This book also offers a double joy in that I found the perfect venue to feature a character readers have been asking about for years. The Landis-Renshaw family offspring have all had their stories told except for Major Hank Renshaw, Junior—son of General Hank Renshaw and stepson of Ginger Landis-Renshaw.

Many thanks to all of you who asked for this book. I read and treasure the opportunity to hear from readers!

Happy reading,

Catherine

Catherine Mann

PO Box 6065, Navarre, FL 32566, USA

www.CatherineMann.com

Facebook: Catherine Mann (author)

Twitter: CatherineMann1

About the Author

USA TODAY bestselling author CATHERINE MANN lives on a sunny Florida beach with her flyboy husband and their four children. With more than forty books in print in over twenty countries, she has also celebrated wins for both a RITA® Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. Catherine enjoys chatting with readers online—thanks to the wonders of the internet, which allows her to network with her laptop by the water! Contact Catherine through her website, www.catherinemann.com, on Facebook as Catherine Mann (author), on Twitter as CatherineMannl, or reach her by snail mail at PO Box 6065, Navarre, FL 32566, USA.

Honorable
Intentions

Catherine Mann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Noah—may you always feel your father’s love and

know that his memory lives on through you.

One

New Orleans, Louisiana: Mardi Gras

“Laissez les bons temps rouler!” Let the good times roll!

The cheer bounced around inside Hank Renshaw, Jr.’s, head as he pushed through the crowd lining the road to watch the Mardi Gras parade. His mood was anything but party-worthy.

He needed to deliver a message on behalf of his friend who’d been killed in action ten months ago. Tracking down his best bud’s girlfriend added twenty-ton weights to Hank’s already heavy soul.

Determination powered him forward, one step at a time, through the throng of partiers decked out in jester hats, masks and beads. Lampposts blazed through the dark. The parade inched past, a jazz band blasting a Louis Armstrong number while necklaces, doubloons and even lacy panties rained over the mini-mob.

Not surprising to see underwear fly. In years past, he’d driven down from Bossier City to New Orleans for Mardi Gras festivities. This town partied through the weekend leading all the way into Fat Tuesday. If former experiences were anything to judge by, the night would only get rowdier as the alcohol flowed. Before long, folks would start asking for beads the traditional way.

By hiking up their shirts.

A grandma waved her hands in the air, keeping her blouse in place for now as she shouted at a float with a krewe king riding a mechanical alligator, “Throw me something, mister!”

“Laissez les bons temps rouler!” the king shouted back in thickly accented Cajun French.

Hank sidestepped around a glowing lamppost. He spoke French and Spanish fluently, passable German and a hint of Chamorro from the time his dad had been stationed in Guam. He’d always sworn he wouldn’t follow in the old man’s aviator footsteps. While his dad was a pilot, Hank was a navigator. But in the end, he’d even chosen the same aircraft his dad had—the B-52. He couldn’t dodge the family legacy any more than his two sisters had. Renshaws joined the air force. Period. They’d served for generations, even though their cumulative investment portfolio now popped into the billions.

And he would give away every damn cent if he could bring back his friend.

Chest tight with grief, Hank looked up at the wrought-iron street number on the restaurant in front of him. Less than a block to go until he reached Gabrielle Ballard’s garret apartment, which was located above an antiques shop. He plunged back into the kaleidoscope of Mardi Gras purple, gold and green.

And then, in the smallest shift of the crowd, he saw her in the hazy glow of a store’s porch lights. Or rather, he saw her back as she made her way to her apartment. She didn’t appear to be here for the parade. Just on her way home, walking ahead of him with a floral sling full of groceries and a canvas sack.

Hurrying to catch her, he didn’t question how he’d identified her. He knew Gabrielle without even seeing her face. What a freaking sappy reality, but hell, the truth hurt. He recognized the elegant curve of her neck, the swish of her blond hair along her shoulders.

Even with a loose sweater hiding her body, there was no mistaking the glide of her long legs. The woman made denim look high-end. She had a Euro-chic style that hinted at her dual citizenship. Her U.S. Army father had married a German woman, then finished out his career at American bases overseas. Gabrielle had come to New Orleans for her graduate studies.

Yeah, he knew everything about Gabrielle Ballard, from her history to the curve of her hips. He’d wanted her every day for a torturous year before he and Kevin had shipped out. The only relief? Since she lived in South Louisiana, while he and his friend were stationed in Northern Louisiana, Gabrielle had only crossed his path a couple of times a month.

Regardless, the brotherhood code put a wall between him and Gabrielle that Hank couldn’t scale. She was his best friend’s fiancée, Kevin’s girl. At least, she had been. Until Kevin died ten months ago. Two gunshots from a sniper at a checkpoint, and his friend was gone. That didn’t make Gabrielle available, but it did make her Hank’s obligation.

Gabrielle angled sideways, adjusting the sling holding her groceries and the canvas sack, to wedge through a cluster of college-aged students in front of the iron gate closing off the outdoor stairs to her apartment. A plastic cup in one guy’s hand sloshed foamy beer down her arm. She jumped back sharply, slamming into another drunken reveler. Gabrielle stepped forward, only to have the guy with the cup block her path again. She held her floral sack closer, fear stamped on her face.

Instincts still honed from battle shifted into high gear, telling Hank things were escalating in a damn dangerous way. He scowled, shoving forward faster without taking his eyes off her for even a second. The street lamp spotlighted her, her golden hair a shining beacon in the chaos. She pressed herself into a garden nook, but the sidewalk was packed; the noise of the floats so intense that calls for help wouldn’t be heard.

Hank closed the last two steps between him and the mess unfolding in front of him. He clamped his hand down firmly on the beer-swilling bastard’s shoulder.

“Let the lady pass.”

“What the hell?” The drunken jerk stumbled backward, bloodshot eyes unfocused.

Gabrielle’s gaze zipped to Hank. She gasped. Her emerald-green eyes went wide with recognition as she stared at him. And yeah, he felt an all too familiar snap of awareness inside him every time she crossed his path, the same draw that had tugged him the first time he saw her at a squadron formal.

One look at her then, in the ice-blue dress, and every cell in his body had shouted, “Mine!” Seconds later, Kevin had joined them, introducing her as the love of his life. Still, those cells in Hank kept on staking their claim on her.

The guy shrugged off Hank’s hand, alcohol all but oozing from his pores into the night air. “Mind your own business, pal.”

“Afraid I can’t do that.” Hank slid his arm around Gabrielle’s waist, steeling himself for the soft feel of her against his side. “She’s with me, and it’s time for you to find another spot to watch the parade.”

The guy’s eyes focused long enough to skim over Hank’s leather flight jacket and apparently decide taking on a trained military guy might not be a wise move. He raised his hands, a glowing neon necklace peeking from the collar of his long-sleeved college tee. “Didn’t know you had prior claim, Major. Sorry.”

Major? God, it seemed as if yesterday he was a lieutenant, just joining a crew. Okay. He sure felt ancient these days even though he was only thirty-three. “No harm, no foul, as long as you walk away now.”

“Can do.” The guy nodded, turning back to his pals. “Let’s bounce, dudes.”

Hank watched until the crowd swallowed the drunken trio, his guard still high as he scanned the hyped-up masses.

“Hank?” Gabrielle called to him. “How did you find me?”

The sound of her voice speaking his name wrapped around him like a silken bond. Nothing had changed. He was still totally hooked on her. Bad enough before when she and Kevin had been engaged. But now, one glance at her made memories of his dying friend roil in his gut again.

He needed to check on Gabrielle as he’d promised Kevin he would, pass along his friend’s final words, then punch out of her life for good.

“You still live at the same address. Finding you wasn’t detective work,” he said, guiding her toward the iron gateway blocking her outside stairway. His eyes roved over the familiar little garden and wrought-iron table he’d seen for the first time when he’d driven down with Kevin two years ago. Determined to gain control of his feelings, he’d accompanied his bud on a weekend trip to the Big Easy. Pure torture from start to finish. “Let’s go to your place so we can talk.”

“What are you doing here? I didn’t know you’d returned to the States.” Her light German accent gave her an exotic appeal.

As if she needed anything else to knock him off balance. Good God, he was a thirty-three-year-old combat veteran, and she had him feeling like a high schooler who’d just seen the new hot chick in class.

He took in her glinting green eyes, her high cheekbones and delicate chin that gave her face a heartlike appearance. A green canvas purse hung from one shoulder, her floral shopping sack slung over her head, resting on her other hip. The strap stretched across her chest, between her breasts.

Breasts that were fuller than he remembered.

Better haul his eyes back upward, pronto. “I’m here for you.”

The rest could wait until they got inside. He pulled her closer, her grocery sling shifting between them heavily. What the hell did she have in there?

He slipped a finger under the strap. “Let me carry that for you.”

“No, thank you.” She covered the sack protectively with both hands, curving around the smooth bulge.

Smooth? Maybe not groceries, after all. But what?

Her sack wriggled.

He looked at the bag again, realization blasting through him. Holy crap. Not a satchel at all. He’d seen his sister Darcy wear one almost exactly like it when her son and daughter were newborns. No question, Gabrielle wore an infant sling.

And given the little foot kicking free, she had a baby on board.

As far back as she could remember, Gabrielle had dreamed of being a mom. Her baby dolls had always been the best dressed, well fed and healthiest in her neighborhood.

Little had she known then how very different her first real stint at motherhood would play out.

No daddy for her child.

A sick baby.

And now an unsettling blast from the past had arrived in the form of Hank Renshaw. Standing in front of her, tall and broad-shouldered, he blocked out the rest of the world. He wore his leather flight jacket in the unseasonably cool night, looking as tall, dark and studly as any movie poster hero.

She still couldn’t believe he was here.

Hank.

No kidding, Major Hank Renshaw, Jr., stood on her street in the middle of Mardi Gras. Only her baby’s doctor’s appointment could have drawn her out into this chaos with her child. If he’d been a few minutes later, would she have missed him?

She hadn’t seen him since… Her heart stumbled as surely as her feet moments earlier. She hadn’t seen Hank since she’d said goodbye to Kevin the day they’d both deployed from their Louisiana base to the Middle East.

For some reason, he’d come to visit her now. And no matter how painful it was to think of how she should have been celebrating Kevin’s homecoming, it wasn’t Hank’s fault. She was just tired and emotional. God, she hated feeling needy.

But oh, my, how the shower-fresh scent of him chased away the nauseating air of beer, sweat and memories. How easy it would be to lean into that strength and protection. How easy—and how very wrong. She had to hold strong. She’d fought long and hard to break free of her family’s smothering protectiveness two years ago, following her dream to study in the States.

She was a twenty-six-year-old single mom who could and would take care of herself and her son. She didn’t need the distraction or heartbreak of a man, especially not now.

Although from the horror on his face as he stared at her baby’s foot sticking out of her sling, she shouldn’t have any trouble sending Hank on his way quickly.

She plastered a smile on her weary face. “Oh, my God, Hank, I can’t believe it’s really you. Let’s step inside out of this craziness so we can hear each other better. When did you get back from overseas? How long have you been here?”

“I got back to base yesterday,” he answered carefully, his eyes shouting a question of his own, directed right at her son.

She ignored the obvious, best to discuss it away from here—and after she gathered her shaky composure. “Just yesterday? And you’re already here? You must be more tired than I am.”

Bracing her elbow, his hand warm and strong, he guided her through the throng. “Seeing you topped my list of priorities. Why else would I be here?”

Her son kicked her in the stomach, right over a churning well of nerves. “Well, it’s Mardi Gras.” She tucked her hand into the canvas diaper bag, fishing for her keys. “I thought maybe you came for the celebration, some R & R after your deployment.”

“No rest or relaxation. My being here? All about you.”

“About Kevin, you mean.” Saying his name, even ten months after his death, hurt.

She saw an answering pain in Hank’s eyes. What a strange bond they shared, connected by a dead man.

Turning away to hide the sheen of tears, she fit the key into the wrought-iron gate closing off the outside steps up to her attic apartment. The hinges creaked open. Hank blocked anyone else from entering and stepped into the narrow walkway with her. He closed the gate and turned fast, clasping her by the arms.

His steely blue eyes weren’t going to be denied.

He tugged her son’s booty-covered foot. “And since I’m here about Kevin, that begs the question, who’s this? Are you babysitting for a neighbor?”

So much for buying time to pull herself together. “This is Max. He’s mine.” And he was sick, so very sick. She shivered in fear, her head pounding in time with the beat of the jazz band. “Any other questions will have to wait until we’re upstairs away from the noise. I’ve had a long day, and I’m really tired.”

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 memory 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 hands 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.

So she gathered her emotions in tight and focused on him, and what he was saying.

“I tried to call you afterward from overseas, a couple of times, but calls out were few and far between.”

“I got the messages,” she whispered.

He looked up fast. “And you didn’t write back? Email?”

His voice on those recordings had poured alcohol on her open grief. “It was too painful then.” And his presence now? She didn’t know what she was feeling. “I figured hearing my voice would hurt you as much as it hurt me to hear yours.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

His deep blue eyes held hers, waiting, asking. She didn’t have the answers and her life was scary enough just dealing with Max’s surgery. She looked down at their joined hands and, holy crap, how long had they been holding each other like that?

She snatched her arms back, crossing them over her chest. “What are we doing here, Hank? Are you here to pick up where we left off after that kiss, now that Kevin’s gone? Because you have to realize that was a mistake.”

A dark eyebrow slashed upward. “If you have to ask that, you don’t know me at all. I mean what I say. I just want to be here for Kevin’s kid.”

“But you didn’t know about Max when you arrived.” And why hadn’t she thought of that until now? “What are you doing here?”

He shoved to his feet and paced in the space she’d decorated with such hope and plans, a blend of her dual roots. Then she’d met Kevin and thought, finally, she had found roots of her own, a sense of belonging.

Hank’s powerful long legs ate up the one-room apartment quickly, back and forth in front of the nursery nook before pivoting hard to face her. “Kevin wanted me to deliver a message.”

“A message?” A burn prickled along her skin until the roots of her hair tingled.

“I meant it when I said I was with him when he died.” His body went taut, his shoulders bracing, broadening. “I was right beside him until the end.”

She eased to her feet, steeling herself for whatever he had to share, for words that could haul her back into the agony she’d felt when Kevin died, when she’d given birth to their child alone. “What did he say?”

“He said he forgave us.”

Three

Gabrielle looked every bit as stunned as he’d felt when Kevin said the words to him, that he forgave them. The memory blasted through him of that hellish night at the checkpoint when they’d been ambushed, the smell of gunfire and death. Then Kevin spoke and said the unthinkable.

That he knew Hank and Gabrielle had feelings for each other.

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no words came out. She pressed her palm to her lips, turning away.

He wanted to reach for her, to comfort her. Do something—since he couldn’t seem to scrounge up the right words. He wasn’t much of a warm and fuzzy guy. He was a man of action.

A squawk from behind him stopped him short.

“Max,” Gabrielle gasped, rushing past him.

She swept aside the gauzy curtain and lifted her son out. Damn, the boy was so tiny. Scary small. The enormity of that little being going under the knife stole his breath and raised every protective instinct all at once.

Cradling Max to her shoulder, she patted his back. “I need to feed and change him.”

“Yeah, 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 stomach knotted.

There was no more dodging Hank, that long-ago kiss and the fact that somehow Kevin had found out. She’d hurt the man she’d promised to love for the rest of her life. She rammed the lavender bottle into the medicine cabinet and padded back out into the living room barefoot.

And the breath left her body. Hank stood in the doorway, shadows across his face. In his flight jacket and khakis, he could have been any military guy coming home with supper for his family. Yet even with the anonymity of the shadowy light, she would never for a moment mistake him for anyone but himself.

The light clink of silverware across the room broke the spell, and she looked over to find a private waiter setting up things for them. Hank held out a chair for her at her little table that had been transformed with silver, china and a single rose. This was a world away from the sandwich and milk she’d planned for herself.

Their waiter popped a wine bottle—the label touting a Bordeaux from St. Emilion.

She covered her glass, even though her mouth watered. “No, thank you. I’m a nursing mom.”

The waiter nodded and promptly switched to an exclusive bottled water as Hank took his seat across from her.

“Whatever that is smells amazing.” She plastered on a smile as the waiter served their meal, then quietly left. “I concede you’re the king of late-night takeout food. If that tastes even half as good as it smells, it’ll be heavenly.”

“So the little guy’s down for the count?” His eyes heated over her, briefly but unmistakably lingering on her legs.

Was his head tipping to catch her scent? She had to be mistaken, sleep deprived and hallucinating. And if she wasn’t, she needed to get her priorities in order. Max came first, and for him, she needed to eat and keep her strength up.

“Sorry about the wine but Max is nursing as well as bottle feeding.” With his digestive problems, he fed more often than she could keep up with, even expressing. But that was far more detail than she wanted to share with him. “He will sleep for another hour and a half.”

“You’ve got to be flat-out exhausted.” He tipped back his water goblet.

“I’m not the only single mom on the planet.” She set out silverware and napkins. “I’ll survive.”

And survive well with the meal in front of her. Aromas wafted upward to tempt her with hickory-roasted duck, cornbread pudding and on and on until her mouth watered. Reaching for the fork, she realized she was really hungry for the first time in months.

Sure, maybe she was avoiding talking for a few minutes longer, letting herself be normal for just a stolen pocket of time.

Until she couldn’t avoid the burning question any longer… .

Without looking up, she stabbed a fork into the corn bread pudding, mixing it with a roasted-corn salad. “What did you mean by saying Kevin had forgiven us?”

Hank set his fork down carefully on the gold ring edging the plate. “He didn’t seem to know any details other than we had feelings for each other. He said he understood, and he wanted us both to go on with our lives.”

Gasping in horror, she dropped her fork. Shame piled on top of the guilt. Kevin had known. Somehow he’d seen her confused feelings when she’d thought she’d hidden them so carefully. He’d been so argumentative just before leaving, picking fights with her about anything because she wouldn’t agree to move closer. She’d held her temper in check because of his upcoming deployment—until nerves got the better of her.

He’d wanted her to skip out on work and party with him, but nerves were already chewing her over the last time he’d partied, gotten reckless and forgot birth control. She’d told him she was tired of always having to be the adult in their relationship. He’d snapped back, telling her to go hang out with Hank, then, since he was mature enough for ten people. The fight had been hurtful and a product of fears about him leaving.

How damn sad that a ridiculous fight led her to act on those feelings, to kiss Hank.

She flattened her shaking hands to the table. “Are you saying Kevin gave me to you in a dying declaration?”

“Not in so many words.” He reached for his water glass. “He said he loved you, he forgave us both and then he mumbled something about being sorry for not taking you out for gumbo.”

Tears welled fast and acidic. The enormity of what Hank had said, of his showing up here in the first place, exploded in her brain, then came back together like puzzle pieces fitting into an unsettling image. “You aren’t actually expecting to pick up where we left off with that kiss, are you?” She pressed her fingers against her speeding heart. “Because that would be incredibly crass, if you came here looking for an easy pickup off your friend’s death.”

He choked on the water. “That would be crass.”

“Glad we agree on that much. So why are you here again?”

“Gabrielle—” he set his glass down “—I’m here to tell you Kevin’s last thought was of you, that he loved you and let you go. End of story. Or so I thought. But finding out Kevin had a kid? That changes everything.”

Now he was sticking around because of Max? That should make her happy. Her son was everything, after all. Hank had said he wanted to be a stand-in dad. Yet something about the notion of him being here for her baby felt off. “Max doesn’t have to change anything. You’re free to go.” She shoved her chair back sharply, just barely catching it before it tipped to the floor. “He is not your child, and he’s not your responsibility.”

Hank shot to his feet and grabbed her shoulders. “You know me better than that, Gabrielle. Do you honestly think I’m the kind of man who could walk away now?”

“You feel guilty.” She gripped his polo shirt, the cotton warm from the heat of his body. “Even though he released you, you still feel bad about that kiss. Well, consider yourself absolved by me, too. I instigated it. My fault. Bye-bye.”

She let go, pushed him away and raised her hands before she succumbed to the temptation to crawl right into his arms.

“Bull.” He twined his fingers with hers. “What happened that night—it was me. I kissed you, and yeah, I still feel guilty as hell because if I had the chance, I would do it again.”

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