AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Gabe didn’t point out that she’d just revealed her secret hiding place. Nor did he point out that she’d dismissed his offer, yet her gaze followed every move A.J. made. Maybe it was best that she’d turned him down. Normally protective of A.J. to the point of paranoia, he wondered what it was about Brooke Clayton that made him trust her. She couldn’t even keep up with her keys. But he remembered her face from the funeral and knew he wasn’t being fair. She might be a college girl, but she wasn’t Tara. Thank God. He didn’t know how many times he’d called a locksmith to replace keys or the security company to turn off an alarm his irresponsible wife had triggered. Tara would laugh, peck him on the cheek and call him her hero. The charming, childish ploy had worked for a while, but after A.J.’s birth, Gabe had expected his young wife to grow up. She hadn’t.
A.J. high-stepped into Brooke’s legs and wrapped his arms around her knees, gurgled something and grinning up at her.
The memory of how close he’d come to losing his son at the hands of A.J.’s own mother froze Gabe’s insides. Never again. No woman, no matter how charming, would ever get the chance to hurt his boy again.
Chapter Three
Brooke noticed the sudden, unexpected change in her new neighbor. One minute he’d asked her to be A.J.’s nanny—an offer that struck her right between the eyes—and the next Gabe had yanked his son into his arms as if the child was in danger.
The notion speared Brooke through the heart.
The little boy was precious. Sturdy body, brown hair and dark eyes that took up a third of his face, and when he laughed, Brooke wanted to snatch him up and nuzzle that soft-looking neck.
Holding a child always put that ache in her chest. The one that reminded her of why she’d never have a baby, of why she’d never pursue a career that involved children, although the desire to do so was eating her up inside.
Gabe resettled in the rose brocade chair Vivienne had bought their late mother early in her successful New York career. A.J. sat on his lap happily smearing banana into his mouth. Whatever had disturbed Gabe couldn’t be too serious. He was still here.
Their eyes met, and inexplicably Brooke’s stomach fluttered. She felt the same sense of connection she’d experienced the day of the funeral. What was it about Gabe Wesson that intrigued her so?
Certainly, he was handsome, in a dark, scruffy kind of way. He hadn’t shaved yet this morning, and his black hair was mussed as if he’d not combed it yet, either. He looked casual and relaxed in worn jeans with his overshirt hanging loose and unbuttoned. Yes, he was good-looking, but it wasn’t his looks that drew her.
To circumvent further discussion of the nanny situation, she curled her feet beneath her on the couch and said, “This may seem nosey, but why would anyone leave Denver and move here?”
“Work.” He dodged A.J.’s messy hand as the boy tried to poke banana into his mouth. “My company may reopen the Lucky Lady Silver Mine.”
His company. Did that mean he was the owner?
“I heard about you a few days ago at my grandfather’s funeral. You have the whole town stirred up.”
He quirked a brow. “Is that good or bad?”
“Probably both, although nobody really believes there’s anything in that mine but bats. If there was, my grandfather would have reopened it long ago.”
“You must be George Clayton’s granddaughter.”
“George Sr., yes,” she replied. “My father was George.”
“I saw you on the day of the funeral. In the last car. You looked sad.”
So he had noticed her, too. Had he felt the same strange sense of connection?
She rubbed a finger and thumb along the sides of the empty water bottle. “I remember feeling sad that no one was sad. Isn’t that silly?”
She’d been sad for other reasons that day. The rudderless feeling that came with graduation and the end of college life. The end of her engagement and her plans for the future with no other vision in sight. If not for Grandpa George’s bizarre request, Brooke didn’t know where she’d be.
“Not silly to me.” He shifted A.J. to the chair arm. “Why was no one sad at the funeral?”
