Christmas on 4th Street (Fool's Gold #12.5)

He drank the water. She tried not to notice how appealing a warm and sleepy man could be. His light brown hair was mussed, his expression relaxed. She was sure the wariness would return soon enough, but it was nice to see him without his guard up.

For a second she allowed herself to think what it would be like to crawl up next to him—to feel his arms around her and maybe snuggle on the sofa. She hadn’t been in a relationship in what felt like a millennium, but was actually just about two years. Long enough for her to be lonely, she thought.

He finished the water then set the empty glass on the table by the sofa. “Thanks for all of this,” he said, motioning to the blanket and the sofa. “You were right.”

“I usually am.”

His mouth twitched. “And modest.”

She shrugged. “I live with the burden.”

The twitch turned into a smile. “Are you thinking sainthood or just a tasteful plaque?”

“We’ll start with a plaque.” She studied him. “You’re still exhausted. Jet lag?”

He nodded. “I spent the past two days traveling.”

“Where did you come from?”

“Germany. There’s a big hospital there.” He looked like he was going to say more, but didn’t.

“How’d you get back to the States? Military transport?”

“Part of the way. Then commercial. There was snow in Chicago.”

She looked at the lines around his eyes and mouth. “Your hand is bothering you,” she observed. “Can I get you something for it?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” She didn’t risk glancing at the bandage. “You’re forgetting I saw it earlier.”

“How could I forget? You fainted.”

“I didn’t. I nearly fainted. There’s a difference.”

He leaned back against the sofa, looking more relaxed. “Not much of one.”

“You’re trying to change the subject.”

One eyebrow rose. “From?”

“How you acting like a macho idiot isn’t going to help you get better.”

“This would be your medical opinion?”

She ignored that. “Pain is stress and stress inhibits healing. I read a lot,” she added, knowing she wasn’t ready to tell him why she knew what she was talking about. “Would it help if I said I wouldn’t tell?”

“No.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“Do I get a plaque, too?”

She held up both hands. “Fine. Don’t heal. Have an open wound forever. See if I care.”

He stood slowly. She was tall, but he was taller. He looked all manly in her storage room, she thought. Out of place, but in a good way. If that was possible.

“I should go wait out front,” he said, reaching for his jacket. “So Felicia doesn’t have to park.”

“You up to this?” she asked, thinking that he hadn’t seen his brother in a long time. “Dealing with all the emotional stuff? If it gets too much, tell Felicia you’re still recovering from blood loss. She’ll force you to go lie down. Oh, but if you do that, don’t resist. She knows things.”

The amusement returned to Gabriel’s eyes. “What kind of things?”

“You know. Scary military stuff. Like how to twist you up like a pretzel and make you scream like a little girl.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed that about her.”

“It’s true. She’s not as good as Consuelo, but she has skills.”

He studied her for a second. She felt the heat of his gaze and hoped he was thinking how he’d like to rip her clothes off and have his manly way with her. Then he leaned close and kissed her on the cheek.

“Thanks for not running me through with the umbrella. And for the nap.”

“Anytime,” she murmured, holding in a sigh. Apparently Gabriel found her very resistible. Just her luck.

She walked him to the front door and was about to say she hoped to see him again when an older lady called for help by the glass ornaments.

“Be right there,” she said and turned back to say something to Gabriel.

But he was already gone.

Chapter 3

“Great view,” Gabriel said, tipping his beer bottle toward the darkness beyond the deck that wrapped around his brother’s house. During the day the side of the mountain was visible, but now there was only the outline of trees and the starry sky above. A little light spilled out from the house. Enough for him to make out the man sitting next to him and the railing of the deck. But beyond that was only the night.

Dinner had been more comfortable than he’d expected. Carter had done most of the talking. He’d asked a few questions, then gone on about his day and his friends. He was a good kid, Gabriel thought. Well-adjusted and friendly. Felicia had kept the conversation going, as well, but she’d been carefully watching Gideon, as if concerned this was all too much for him.

After the meal, she’d shooed the brothers out of the kitchen to “get caught up.” They’d come out on the deck, where it was cold and quiet.

“I like the light,” his brother said.