Of course, it had been easier to accept that she was off-limits when he was in Mexico with half a continent between them. It was clear that now that he was back home he was going to have to be vigilant and keep reminding himself of why he had come back in the first place. He had to remember that he was here because he owed it to Joel to protect Gaby and Toby from anyone who might hurt them. And that included him.
Suddenly he was aware that he was clenching the screwdriver so tightly it was cutting into his palm. Loosening his grip, he stared at the motor. Maybe, he thought, trying to overhaul it this morning hadn't been such a good idea after all. He was seriously contemplating abandoning the task in favor of the big hammock down by the water when he heard footsteps on the gravel driveway behind him. He groaned inwardly as every muscle in his body tightened in anticipation of round two with Gaby.
She was moving at a snail's pace, and not until she reached the front of the picnic table he was using as a workbench did Connor glance up. He was amazed to see her holding two glasses of what looked like iced coffee. Forcing a smile caused his head to throb, but he made the effort anyway.
“Morning,” he said. “Which one has the arsenic?”
She managed a small smile. “Neither. It's meant as a peace offering.”
“Really?” he asked, mock suspicion in the slight tilt of his head.
She laughed outright. “Yes, really. Take your pick if you don't believe me.”
His gaze narrowed as he studied the two drinks she held out to him before reaching for the one in her right hand. The glass was cold and beaded with tiny drops of condensation, and suddenly his mouth was watering for the taste of iced coffee. He stopped with the glass only inches from his lips and eyed her over the rim. Arsenic seemed a little farfetched, but it occurred to him that there was no telling what she might have come across in Charlie's medicine cabinet.
“You first,” he ordered.
“For heaven's sake.” She rolled her eyes and took a big sip from the glass in her hand. “Happy?”
“I wouldn't go that far,” he muttered, and chugged half of his coffee in one gulp.
Gaby regarded him with amusement. “I was going to ask if you wanted more sugar, but evidently it's okay as it is.”
“It's perfect. Thank you.” He took another, more restrained sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Lowering his glass, he glanced at her T-shirt and shorts and was instantly assailed by an image of her clad only in the bra and panties he knew she had to be wearing underneath. The day suddenly seemed even hotter. “I see the clothes fit,” he remarked, averting his gaze to the lake behind her, as if he found something out there absolutely fascinating.
“More or less.” She took another sip. “Did you really think I'd try to poison you?”
Connor shrugged. “Why not? I'm sure you think I deserve it. Or worse.”
“True.”
He met her gaze with a sardonic smile. “I thought you said this was supposed to be a peace offering.”
“It is.”
“Does that mean you've come to your senses, had a miraculous change of heart overnight and now realize that I'm right about everything, and that instead of the arrogant, hardheaded SOB you accused me of being, I'm actually a knight in shining armor?”
“I wouldn't go that far,” she said, her tone dry as she mimicked his earlier words. “It does, however, mean that I'm willing to listen again to what you have to say and see if somehow together we can't come up with a reasonable explanation for whatever you think is going on.”
“I know what's going on, Gaby,” he said. “I'm just not sure of all the details or of exactly how Adam is involved.”
“
If
Adam is involved,” she amended.
His mouth tightened. “He is, trust me.”
“I'm afraid I can't do that. I can't just take your word for the fact that a very dear friend of mine, a man who was only good to me and my son when I really needed someone, the man I intend to marry, is involved in some sordid money-laundering scheme and may even have been behind the death of my husband.”
“Fine,” he said. He fumbled in the toolbox for a smaller screwdriver, telling himself that since he really hadn't expected her to trust him, it shouldn't bother him so much that she didn't. “You don't have to take my word for it. You don't have to do anything. I only filled you in on what was going on as a courtesy and because you seemed so hell-bent on knowing. Your confidence and cooperationâor lack thereofâare really inconsequential.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded. She stood with her weight on one hip, her arms crossed in front of her, her cool, haughty gaze getting to him like an itch in a place he couldn't scratch.
“Nothing diabolic, so you can stop looking at me as if I'm something you stepped in with one of your fancy iced apricot pumps.”
“Speaking of which, there were no shoes in with the clothes you gave me.”
He turned back to the motor. “That's right.”
“So I'd like my own shoes back if you don't mind.”
“I do mind.”
“Why, for heaven's sake? You can hardly expect me to walk around barefoot all the time,” she complained, her voice rising. “The stones killed my feet just getting out here.”
He slanted her a distracted look as he moved to the other side of the table in hopes of finding a better angle for the screwdriver. “Then you won't be straying too far, will you?”
Understanding flared in her eyes, followed by a flash of anger.
“Of all the... do you really think you can keep me here by keeping me barefoot?”
“I think the odds are a lot better than they would be if I'd thrown in a pair of comfortable sneakers.” He felt the screwdriver begin to slip. “Ah, damn.”
“You're impossible,” she told him, her words clipped and angry. “To think I actually came out here hoping we could have a rational conversation and maybe come up with answers to some of the questions you've raised.”
“The hell you did,” he retorted, not sure at that instant if he was more frustrated by her or the motor. “You came out here hoping you could chip away at what I told you yesterday.”
Her silent shrug only served to spur him on.
“I'm sure you'd love to twist it and slant it to make it look like we're talking about a small bookkeeping error instead of a professional wash-and-dry operation for hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. And barring that, I'm sure you'd love to persuade me that your dear old friend Adam is just some kind of innocent bystander to whatever is going on instead of being at the center of it, involved in fraud and racketeering and maybe murder right up to his lying eyeballs.”
“You have no proof of any of that.”
“Yet,” he snapped, leaning over the motor to glare at her.
“Yet?” she scoffed. “How do you expect to come up with any proof while you're hanging around here baby-sitting me?”
“I don't have to. Half the state police crime and undercover units are working on it right this minute, and the proof will come. Count on it, Gaby. And when it does, it's going down... and Adam Ressler is going with it.”
Her head shook with bleak amazement. “You sound almost happy about it. I thought Adam was your friend.”
“Yeah, I thought so, too.”
“Don't you think that you at least owe him the benefit of the doubt?” she pressed. “That you should try talking to him?”
“The way Joel tried to? No, thanks.”
Gaby went pale.
Connor tossed aside the rag he'd been using to wipe grease from the motor. “Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”
“Why not, it's what you believe, isn't it?”
He nodded slowly, his expression solemn. “Yeah. It's what I believe.”
The arms folded across her chest tightened, and it almost seemed to Connor that she shivered in spite of the heat that was sending a steady stream of sweat trickling down his back. He took a step forward, struck by a powerful and unsettling urge to reach out and offer comfort. He could almost feel what it would be like to take her in his arms, to feel the silkiness of her long hair brushing his bare skin and the delicate line of her backbone as he moved his hand consolingly along her back.
He quickly reached for the screwdriver and bent over the engine once more. He was going to loosen that blasted screw if it took him all day. After a minute or so, he sensed her moving and cursed himself for feeling a stupid hope that she was coming closer instead of trying to get away from him. A quick glance up from what he was doing told him she wasn't. That was all the time it took for Murphy's Law to kick in. The screwdriver slipped off the screw, and the pressure he'd been exerting on it was enough to drive his hand forward toward the propeller. His fingers jammed between the metal blades and the casing, and one of the rusted blade edges ripped a four-inch gash across the back of his right hand.
“Ahâ” He cut off the epithet as Gaby whirled back to him, her quizzical expression giving way to one of horror as she saw the blood spurting from the open wound. From his vantage point he could see that the blade had sliced all the way to the bone.
“Oh, my God, Connor, what happened?”
“I got stupid,” he muttered. He squeezed his eyes shut to see if he could stop his head from spinning. His stomach was doing the same. When he opened them again, Gabrielle was standing directly in front of him looking frantic.
“Sit down,” she ordered.
“I'm fine.”
“Sit.”
He sat, nearly as grateful that sitting controlled the dizziness he was feeling as he was disgusted with himself for feeling it. Hell, he'd been shot, knifed and thrown from a bike doing sixty and never before gone all queasy like this. For an awful moment he thought he might actually pass out. Then the cool touch of Gaby's hands on his face drew him back from the brink of that singular humiliation.
“Let me see your hand,” she said.
“Relax.” He smiled weakly, the only way he was capable of doing anything at the moment. “It's just a little cut.”
Gaby winced as he carefully lifted his left hand, which he had automatically pressed to the gash to stop the bleeding, exposing the injury. With the pressure removed, the blood immediately gushed freely.
“That is not just a little cut,” she said. “It looks nasty, Connor, and deep. Lord, I've never seen so much blood.”
“This is nothing,” he insisted, glancing around and reaching for the rag he'd used earlier. “You want to see blood? You ought toâ”
“No,” she snapped, snatching the rag from him before he could wrap it around his hand. “That's filthy. I'll run inside and get you a clean towel.” She took a step and stopped. “That is, I would run if I had shoes. You'll probably bleed to death before I make it there and back,” she added, glancing from Connor to the long, stone-covered driveway that lay between them and the cabin. Blood covered both his hands now, making his good hand so slippery it was hard to exert enough pressure on the cut to staunch the flow.
“Oh, what the hell,” she muttered as she grasped the bottom edge of her T-shirt and yanked it over her head. She held it flat in front of him, but Connor barely noticed. As dazed as he was, he had no trouble focusing on the sight of Gaby wearing only the bra he'd bought with her in mind.
“Give me your hand,” she ordered.
“Gaby, I'm not going to ruin yourâ”
“Give it to me,” she repeated. Loudly.
“Yes, ma'am.”
He placed his hand on top of her shirt, and in a couple of seconds she had it securely wrapped.
“There,” she said, tucking the end under. “Hold it against your chest, and I'll help you inside.”
“If you don't mind, I'd rather sit here for a while andâ”
And look at you
, he'd been about to say when she cut him off.
“You're being stupid again. That cut needs to be cleaned and bandaged in order to stop the bleeding...and you should probably lay down afterward. You look pale.”
“I feel fine.”
“Really, hotshot?” She stepped back and regarded him with smug impatience. “Then let's see you stand up. Come on.”
He quickly got to his feet with his hand still cradled against his chest and was about to flash her a triumphant grin when a wave of light-headedness backwashed so he felt it all the way to his stomach. He instinctively slapped his uninjured hand onto the table to steady himself. Damn.
Connor met her told-you-so gaze and shrugged. “So I got up a little too quickly. What does that prove?”