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“I—” Her eyes were wide as if she were looking for a reason to say no. “What time?”
“I’ll need to be at the mine fairly early. Eight at the latest. After tonight, I want everything checked thoroughly. Every piece of equipment, every vent, everything.”
The microwave beeped. She popped the door open and removed the two mugs, setting them on the table. The sweet scent of chocolate curled into the space between them. Brooke scooted her chair close to the table and reached for the marshmallow package.
“Okay.” Simple as that, A.J. had a caregiver he adored. The pressure lifting off Gabe was immense. “What happened out there tonight?” she asked.
Considering he’d never sat across the kitchen table from a woman at one o’clock in the morning to share his concerns about work, Gabe wasn’t sure where to start. When had anyone been willing to listen at that hour?
Never. Until now. A near stranger, who didn’t feel like a stranger, wanted to know and seemed genuinely interested.
So he told her. And she listened.
He wasn’t sure what to do with the feelings churning beneath his rib cage. What exactly was he feeling? Warmth. Comfort. A sense of homecoming, which made no sense, all things considered. Yet, there it was, whirling around inside him, bewildering and wonderful.
Many times in the past he’d arrived home late from work or travel. A man who ran a corporation worked long hours. Too keyed up to sleep, he’d sat alone, flipping through channels or prowling the downstairs like some nocturnal creature. He hadn’t minded. Not really. He wasn’t selfish enough to expect anyone to get out of a warm bed for his sake.
Maybe that’s why calling Brooke tonight had been so difficult. He didn’t like asking anyone for favors. Yet, Brooke was still here long after she could have returned to the comfort of her bed, commiserating and trying to help him resolve the issue. And she’d agreed, astonishingly, to be A.J.’s regular caregiver.
A man could get used to this kind of attention. She was not only good to look at, she was a nice woman.
Hands cradled around a cup of instant hot chocolate, Brooke leaned toward him. Long, blond waves swung forward, kissing the side of her face, drawing attention to her full, curving lips. “What made the police think someone was in the mine?”
Glad for something to do besides stare at Brooke, he dropped another handful of marshmallows into the steaming drink and stirred. “The 9-1-1 caller heard voices.”
A small frown puckered her eyebrows. “Why would a caller be at the mine at this hour? You don’t run night shifts. No one should have been there at all.”
He pointed his spoon. “My question exactly. The 9-1-1 caller was the likely culprit.”
“Well, the pump didn’t turn itself off, and you said it wasn’t malfunctioning. Could one of the workers have accidentally flipped the switch before leaving this afternoon?”
“Before I can answer that, I’ll have to question everyone tomorrow.” He popped a mini marshmallow into his mouth, savoring the burst of sugar on his tongue.
“Will the flooding do any damage?” The plastic package crinkled as Brooke, too, reached for a marshmallow.
“The engineers will have to check. One thing’s for sure—water in the shafts will set us back again.” First, the breakdown with the ventilation system and now with the pump. His corporation was too safety conscious for him to believe the equipment failures were coincidence. “I’m thankful no one was inside. Under the right conditions, without that pump activated, a mine can flood in a hurry.”
She poked at her marshmallows with a spoon, swirling them in a circle. “That’s a scary thought.”
“Tell me about it. I’m starting to think someone is intentionally sabotaging us.”
“Why?”
He lifted the cup, sipped. The melted sweet stuck to his lip. Brooke laughed and handed him a napkin. “It’s better in your mouth than on it.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He licked his lips, then dabbed them with the napkin. “A few people don’t want the mine reopened, most notably a group of environmentalists that don’t live in Clayton and don’t understand what we’re trying to do here. They’ve sent ugly emails.”
