your dad. But it sounds like you could use an older brother,” he muttered, not sure that role fit, either. “Just for the record, what do you mean by you think you love him?”
The challenge killed her smile. “I mean just that. I doubt it’s something any one of us can know for certain…”
“I would sure hope we could.”
“What I mean,” she continued, quietly overlooking his interruption, “is that none of us can know something like that for sure until we’ve been in the relationship for a few years. I don’t think real love is there at first. There are feelings that can lead to it, but the real thing has to grow. It’s kind of like a seed,” she explained, sounding like her father now. “Some plants flourish. Others struggle. Only with time and care can you tell.”
Gabe opened his mouth, and promptly shut it again. He wanted to know why she would marry someone without being as certain as she possibly could about how she felt. He wanted to know what she would do if a few years passed and she discovered that what she’d felt hadn’t been love at all. When he married, he wanted the certainty. He needed to know he was entering the relationship with everything going in its favor. What he absolutely did not want was a relationship that started out with only seeds of something that might grow into something lasting. He wanted those seeds rooted, stemmed and blooming.
That was precisely why he hadn’t felt any urgency over the advice he’d been given to find a wife. He knew that the woman he married had to be someone people could admire, and look up to. Someone the public could love. But before the public met her, he had to do all that first.
The direction of his thoughts had him backing off. So did the fact that he was about to ask Addie if she truly knew what she was doing. The wary way she watched him made it clear she no longer thought he was rowing with both oars.
His cousin’s kids saved him from asking, anyway. He heard his name hollered from a distance. It was echoed a second later. The wall of leaves muffled the small, male voices, but there was no mistaking the boys’ determination to find him as their shouting came closer.
“Gabe? Are you down here?”
“Gabe? Where are you?”
“Be right there!” he called back.
“Mom said to play soccer with us, and Trevor won’t let me be goalie.”
“I want to be goalie! And Kenny hid the ball!”
“Did not!” came a third voice. “Tyler did.”
Looking far more frustrated than he sounded, Gabe shoved his fingers through his windblown hair. “Give me a minute! Okay?”
“You’d probably better go now.” Addie stared at the beautifully muscled underside of his arm. Realizing what she was doing, aware that the view somehow changed the quality of the knot in her stomach, she jerked her glance to look past his broad shoulders. “It sounds as if you’ll be playing referee.”
The man was a state senator. He influenced the social and economic welfare of more than seven million people. He had offices in Camelot and Richmond and staff in both places. Yet, here, today, he would baby-sit.
The thought would have made Addie smile had it not been for the tension she could still feel radiating toward her. It seemed to tug at the knot, tightening it.
“I’d better go, too,” she said, stepping back, motioning behind her. “I have a section of sprinklers that’ll go off in a few minutes if I don’t change the timer.”
The boys called out again, their voices only yards away. Gabe stepped back himself—only to stop and glance to where she’d returned to the long row of gauges and digital displays.
“Where will you be tonight?”
“Helping my mom in the main house,” she replied, not sure why he’d want to know, too anxious for him to leave to ask. Had she considered it before yesterday, she would have honestly thought he’d be happy for her. An engagement was special. But all she sensed in him was an inexplicable sort of displeasure.
His only response was the lift of his chin before two dark-haired future heartbreakers barreled around the end of the tall hedge. He swooped the smaller one onto his back with the ease of a man completely comfortable with children and their exuberance. A boy of about seven received a hair ruffling that had him giggling before he took off, backward, chattering to the man who could easily have passed for their dad.
Addie turned to her task once more, trying to remember which valves she’d shut off, which she hadn’t. She too rarely encountered members of the extended Kendrick family to know whom the younger ones belonged to. She wasn’t like certain members of the staff who followed every word written about every Kendrick, either. The only one she’d ever been interested in enough to read about was Gabe. And she couldn’t begin to imagine why he would care where she would be later—unless he was still concerned about having some duty to her dad.
Maybe you need an older brother, he’d said.
She’d never had a brother, but she supposed that, in many ways, she already thought of him as one.
She hadn’t always, though, she thought, opening the timer box to finish what she’d started to do ten minutes ago. When she was nine years old, and he fifteen, she’d thought of him as the smartest boy in the world. Then she’d turned ten and she had thought of him more as her knight in shining armor.
Timer buttons clicked as she turned off section after section. She could still remember the day he’d made that transition in her mind, how wet and miserable the weather had turned. And how frightened she’d been of the older kids who’d tried to take her lunch money from her at the bus stop. She could remember Gabe, too. How big and brave and commanding he’d seemed even then.
He had been enrolled in Briarwood at the time, an exclusive prep school miles in the opposite direction of the public school she’d attended. He hadn’t let the fact that he’d gone so far out of his way, or that he would be seriously late, stop him from helping her, though. He’d seen what was going on, rescued her with the cool, steel-eyed glare that still had lesser males backing away and driven her to school himself. He’d pulled right up in front of Thomas Jefferson Elementary in the shiny new Jag his parents had given him for his sixteenth birthday and let her out as if he were her own private chauffeur.
She’d been in serious puppy love with him at ten, and had a wild crush on him as a teenager. As a young woman, she’d been in awe of him and all he was accomplishing, and terribly grateful for his support when her father had died.
It had been Gabe who had helped her through the deep sadness she’d felt at the loss of her dad, because Gabe had loved and respected him, too. And it had been Gabe who had prevented even more upheaval when it had appeared that she and her mom would have to move from the groundskeeper’s cottage.
The cottage had been her parents’ home ever since they’d lost their farm in Kentucky some twenty years before and gone to work for the Kendricks. The tidy little house just inside the woods was a benefit provided to the groundskeeper as part of his salary. It was their home when Addie had been born. But since her father no longer held that position, she and her mom weren’t entitled to stay there.
Mrs. Kendrick had been terribly kind. She had waited nearly two weeks after the funeral before she’d asked Addie’s mom to move up to the servants’ quarters in the main house so
