and connections as Louise Van Camp had were usually considered eccentric. Everyone looked the other way, especially when it benefited their pocketbooks.
Shivering again, Melanie slid into the front seat of her car. It was a sturdy little Honda Accord, silver-blue, and had run like a dream across the country. She’d bought it from a private party in the classifieds, and she’d paid cash. She had the pink slip, but she hadn’t registered it yet. Which meant the only name on the car was still the previous owner. There would be no DMV record until she did register the car—which she had no intention of doing for a long time. And when she did, it wouldn’t be under the name of Melissa Van Camp.
The only problem with the car had been that it wasn’t big enough to bring much more than the barest essentials. She’d left most of hers and Kevin’s belongings at Louise’s estate in Beverly Hills. But what had it mattered? Most of those things had been given to her by Louise or Phillip and meant nothing to her. They would start fresh in Boston, where Raina was temporarily working for an exclusive shop that specialized in custom evening wear. In three months, Raina would go back to Italy, and she’d been pleading with Melanie for her and Kevin to go with her.
A new beginning, Melanie thought. It frightened her, but she could do it. For Kevin, she could do anything.
The only thing that mattered, the only thing important to her, was her son. Kevin was her love, her life, and no one, no one, was going to take him away from her.
Her teeth were chattering as she slid the key into the ignition and turned it to start the engine.
It made a low, grinding sound, then nothing.
Her heart pounding, she turned the key again, heard nothing but the sound of a click.
“No!” she said aloud, pumping the gas pedal. “No, no, no!”
Nothing.
On a half-sob, she laid her head down on the steering wheel and gulped in deep breaths of cold air. She was torn between laughing hysterically and crying, then settled for anger. Jumping out of the car, she balled her hands into fists and slammed them down on the roof.
“You miserable son of a bitch!”
The expletive bounced off the garage walls like a pinball, then shot out the open side door.
Gabe had parked his truck behind the garage and was climbing out of the cab, a cup of coffee in his hand, when Melanie’s castigation had his head turning. What in the world…?
Another salvo of insults broke the still of the morning, and he headed for the garage.
“You can’t do this to me.” He heard her voice rise with fury. “You can’t. Not now. I won’t let you.”
Was she with someone? he wondered. Or arguing with someone on a cell phone? He walked to the open door, saw her fingers rake through that glorious, thick sable hair of hers while she paced beside a blue compact. California license plates, he noted.
“I need you,” she said, her voice rough with desperation. “Please, I need you.”
His fingers tightened on the mug in his hand. So there was a man involved in whatever trouble she was in, he thought, and wondered what kind of man would abandon a woman and child. Not a man, he decided. A snake, maybe, or something lower, something that lived under a rock and left a trail of slime. Anger narrowed his eyes and stiffened his jaw. He didn’t know the guy, but he’d like five minutes alone with the jerk.
It twisted his gut to hear this woman plead, but it also surprised him. Of all the things he’d seen in Melanie last night, it certainly hadn’t been defeat or acquiescence. Even when he’d had her cornered, she’d come out swinging. She hadn’t begged or pleaded. She’d stood up to him.
Damn if he hadn’t admired that.
“Now you listen to me,” she said, the anger back in her voice. “You will start, and you will run smooth as a top. Do you hear me?”
Her hands settled on her narrow hips as she faced the Honda and Gabe realized that she was talking to the car, not a man.
I’ll be damned, he thought, and struggled to keep his lips from twitching.
“The next farm over hears you,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee as he leaned against the doorjamb. “How ’bout I go get some boxing gloves and you two duke it out?”
On a gasp, she whirled, eyes wide and faced him. Her hand flew to her chest, and the breath she’d sucked in came shuddering out. “You scared me,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Sorry.” He grinned at her. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to have to pull you off someone or referee.”
Even in the dim light of the garage, Gabe could see the color rise on Melanie’s high cheeks. Her skin was porcelain smooth against her dark hair, her gray eyes tinged with blue, the same smoky blue as the sweater she wore. When his gaze drifted to her mouth, he realized that was dangerous territory and he quickly looked away.
“What seems to be the problem?” He pushed away from the doorjamb.
“It…it won’t start.”
“Pop the hood.” He stepped toward the front of the car, waited while she reached inside and pulled the hood release. “Now try to start it again.”
A small grind, then nothing.
She moved beside him, hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans, obviously unaware that the stance emphasized the rise of full breasts under her sweater and also clearly revealed the fact that she was cold.
He ignored the quick twist in his gut and focused on the engine, checking the battery and cables. “Battery,” he said after a moment. “I 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
