Chapter Six
Gabe woke before dawn, same as always, from habit, or maybe the leftover tension in his muscles that no amount of sleep could touch.
Either way, when the day’s first gray light crept in around the edges of the blinds in the bunkhouse, he was already yanking on workout shorts and a T-shirt and had his boots laced.
The gym in the Black Heart lodge was empty when he stepped inside. It smelled like rubber mats and metal, which was better than coffee to him right now. He wrapped his hands with tape and went to the heavy bag first.
He first took up boxing in the military and soon realized it was one of his favorite ways to release stress. During those early days after he entered the therapy program, he and this bag outran a lot of ghosts.
He moved through some combos, calling the beats in his head. Jab, jab, cross, right hook, uppercut.
The leather thumped under his knuckles. Jab, cross, hook. Again. Breathe in, breathe out.
The thuds dulled some of the noise in his head. When his shoulders burned and his lungs rasped, he moved to the weights. He pushed harder than he needed to because his platoon sergeant always told them to push to failure. Only when his arms and thighs felt like jelly could he say he did his best.
The burn he knew. Pain, he understood.
What he didn’t know was how to accommodate for the shift he felt in himself ever since he bumped into a certain blue-eyed woman with a sweet voice that got under his skin.
After he could go no more, he hit the shower, standing under the hot water—almost too much luxury for a rough Marine like him—then returned to the bunkhouse to change into jeans and a clean flannel.
A glance at the window told him he still had some time before he picked up the slack in the security office, and he wasn’t ready for breakfast either. He grabbed his coat and headed to the shooting range.
Practice provided a different type of release—pulling the trigger until his grouping tightened to a satisfying cluster the size of a dime. The crack of gunfire snapped through the mountain air and echoed through the open land. Out here, surrounded by mountains and pastures, he almost felt….
Like a version of himself he recognized.
Until his mind drifted to Felicity. Then he was floundering all over again.
When the last casing hit the gravel, he checked the chamber and holstered the weapon. A glance at his watch brought a flicker to his stomach. Breakfast.
And a small lurch of…anticipation.
He’d probably run into Felicity.
She’d taken too many hits, and not the kind you could stitch up and keep going after. Losing her bookshop would be a huge blow. The loss of a dream not to mention her livelihood. It might even mean she would pack up and leave Willowbrook.
Carson had given him the access code for the armory, a small building a few steps from the security office. He cut across the field in long strides, his mind bouncing between the Black Heart Security business and Felicity.
He only answered the phone and took some notes for Carson, but fact was, he enjoyed the work. After only one morning, he could understand how the Malones all transitioned from the military to personal security so easily.
He replaced the weapon and unused ammo, then headed to the lodge, his stomach rumbling at the thought of coffee, bacon and whatever Chef baked fresh that morning—but he secretly hoped it was blueberry muffins.
And he was joined by a blue-eyed woman.
The dining hall was quiet, occupied by only a few of the guys up early to do chores around the ranch and a couple of the new guys who probably hadn’t completely settled in yet.
Crew sauntered up beside him and grabbed a tray.
Gabe threw a smile his way. “How’s it going?”
“It’s going.” He looked more clear-eyed than Gabe had ever seen him. That was good. Real good. After Crew lost his copilot in a training exercise, the man had looked rough for a long time.
“Seems like the mountains called you back.” Crew added a banana to his tray.
“Yup. Seems like the mountains are good for you too.”
Crew’s lips twitched at one corner and he dipped his head in a nod. “You could say that. Things look different up here.”
They chatted for a while, catching up on lore from the poker table. When he turned from the buffet with his tray, he swept his gaze around the room, hoping to see pale brown waves falling over a cardigan sweater.
Felicity wasn’t here. None of the Malone women were either.
She wouldn’t have gone home. Not without Carson knowing. Gabe figured the boss man would have him escort her home just in case. Since that hadn’t happened, he could only guess she was still asleep. She’d had such a long, emotional day, she had to be exhausted.
Still, the idea of her skipping breakfast tugged at the protective cord inside him, a cord he couldn’t remember acknowledging as part of himself before. Serving his country was one thing, and he cared about the people he fought for.
But Felicity was different.
He ate quickly, barely tasting the bacon and eggs as an idea hatched in his brain. After he gulped the last of his coffee, he dumped his tray and grabbed a new one. For Felicity.
Looking over the buffet, he considered what she might like. The scrambled eggs were safe. Bacon, because only a monster didn’t like bacon. A couple of sausage links for good measure. He added a muffin—apple cinnamon today, not blueberry—and a small bowl of fruit because women loved fruit.
A side of hashbrowns too. And finally, a bottle of orange juice and a cup of coffee because he had no idea what she preferred but he’d be damned if he was going to show up unprepared.
By the time he was done, the tray was bordering on ridiculous. He stared down at it for a second and nearly laughed at himself.
You’re acting like you’re courting her.
Did men even court women these days? Hell, it had been so long since he cared about such a thing that he forgot what it was like.
But the old-fashioned word fit Felicity in ways he couldn’t explain. She reminded him of a gentler time. The way she said please and thank you, the way her gaze softened when he’d opened the door for her at the hardware store.
The way she’d looked at him last night after he leaned in and pressed that kiss to her forehead…
He hefted the tray and headed out of the dining hall, boots thudding on the wood floors and then the short span of gravel leading to the ranch house.
The morning was crisp and birds trilled from fence posts. In the distance, a couple of horses grazed lazily, tails flicking.
He entered through the security office, using the lock code Carson provided him the day before, and headed to the library where Felicity slept. Halfway down the hall, he slowed.
Shit. A new thought occurred to him. Felicity probably missed breakfast in the dining hall because she ate with the Malone women.
He pictured her laughing with the ladies over some family joke while he walked over here like a fool with enough food to feed an entire SEAL team.
His steps faltered and he stopped altogether, balancing the tray as the coffee sloshed. He stared toward the library, wrestling with himself.
If she already ate, you’ll look like an idiot.
He should turn around. Drop the tray back off and let the kitchen sort it out. The food wouldn’t go to waste—someone would eat it. There was always another stomach willing to take a second helping.
So why couldn’t he make himself move?
Because he knew how it felt to be alone, like he carried too much and nobody noticed until the walls caved in.
He might not be able to magically restore her shop to its original state, but he could make sure she didn’t face those damn boxes on an empty stomach.
This was what he could do. Breakfast. A tray of too many options because he didn’t know if she preferred biscuits or hashbrowns or fruit, but he wanted her to have the choice.
The same guy who made split-second decisions under fire was standing here frozen about whether or not to deliver a meal.
He blew out a breath. “Quit being a damn coward,” he muttered.
He wasn’t really overstepping by bringing food. If she already ate, she’d tell him. If she hadn’t, well…
He continued along the hallway, pushing through the uncertainty the way he pushed through the burn of exhaustion during a workout.
The library sat a little apart from the main house, which helped because he didn’t feel like he was intruding on the Malones’ private lives. When he reached the closed door, he shifted the tray to balance on one palm so he could knock.
He rapped twice. For a moment, there was no response. Then came a faint voice. “Come in.”
The sweet rasp stroked across his senses the same way it had last night when she’d told him goodnight. He swallowed and opened the door carefully, bracing the tray.
Felicity was already up and dressed in a soft-looking sweater that conformed to her curves and a pair of trousers with a small, checked pattern that made him think of hunts in the English countryside.
The outfit suited her librarian vibe, down to the way her hair waved over one shoulder when she turned to face him.
His gut clutched. The thick locks made his fingers ache to sink into it.
While plundering her full lips with his own.
Her gaze settled on his for a long beat, then dipped to the tray in his hands. Surprise flickered across her face.
“Brought you breakfast.” His voice came out gritty. “Thought we could go through the boxes after you eat.”
“That was so thoughtful, Gabe.” Her focus darted to the boxes. “I bought them in an online auction months ago.”
“Do you have any idea what’s inside?”
She shrugged. “They were sold in lots—special editions mixed in with other collectible books.” As if she suddenly realized he was still holding the tray, she rushed to pull a fat footstool forward. “Set it here please.”
She stood back while he settled the tray. When he straightened, she was shaking her head. “Wow.”