Honourable Intentions. Catherine Mann

to think I’m doing a damn fine job.”

      Her anger and frustration pumped adrenaline through her, her nerves tingling with a hyper-awareness of Hank until she realized… He still had his hand on top of hers. Skin to skin, his warmth seeped into the icy fear that had chilled her for so long she worried nothing would chase it away. Her exhausted body crackled with memories and heated with something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Desire.

      An answering flame heated in Hank’s eyes a second before his expression went neutral. “Did you mean what you said about being hungry? Let me order us some dinner to make up for being rude.”

      “Dinner? With you?” She hadn’t shared a meal with him since two days before he’d left for his deployment.

      Since the night she’d kissed Hank Renshaw.

      Two

      Hank saw the memory of that one kiss reflected in Gabrielle’s eyes. One moment of weakness that dogged him with guilt to this day.

      She’d driven up to his base in Bossier City to say goodbye to Kevin before their deployment. The three of them had planned to go out to lunch together. But at the last minute, she had an argument with Kevin and he stood her up. Hank had bought her burgers and listened while she poured her heart out. He’d held strong until she started crying, then he’d hugged her and…

      Damn it. He still didn’t know who’d kissed whom first, but he blamed himself. Honor dictated he owed Kevin better this time.

      Furrows trenched deeper into Gabrielle’s forehead. “You plan to order dinner, in the middle of Mardi Gras?”

      “Or we can leave and eat somewhere else. There’s got to be a back entrance to this building.” He kept talking to keep her from booting him out on his butt. “We can pack up the kid and go someplace quiet. It’s not like he’ll be able to sleep with all that Mardi Gras racket.”

      “This area’s rarely quiet. He’s used to it.”

      “Then, I’ll order something in.” He tossed his jacket back over the chair.

      “Which brings us back to my original question. Who’s going to deliver here? Now?”

      He didn’t bother answering the obvious.

      She sighed. “Renshaw influence.”

      Influence? An understatement. But making use of it now was a rare perk in the weight of being a Renshaw.

      “I guess even I would deliver a meal in this mayhem if someone paid me enough.” She held up both hands fast. “But you’re leaving.”

      He pulled out his iPhone as if she hadn’t spoken. “What do you want to eat? Come on. I’ve been overseas eating crappy mess hall food and M.R.E.s for a year. Pick something fast and don’t bother saying no. You’re hungry. I’m hungry. Why argue?”

      Hugging herself, she stared back at him, indecision shifting through her eyes. She was stubborn and determined, but then so was he. So he stood and waited her out.

      Finally, she nodded, seeming to relax that steely spine at least a little. “Something simple, not spicy.”

      “No spices? In New Orleans.”

      She laughed and the sweet sound of it sliced right through him as it had before. He’d deluded himself into thinking his memory had exaggerated his reaction to her. And yet here he stood, totally hooked in by the sound of her laughter. Whatever she wanted, he would make it happen. He thumbed the number for a local French restaurant his stepmother frequented and rattled off his order from the five-star establishment. His dad’s new wife brought hefty political weight to the family. And politicians needed privacy.

      Order complete, he thumbed the phone off. “Done. They’ll be downstairs in a half hour.”

      She placed her hands over his jacket on the chair, her fingers curling into the leather. “Thank you, this really is thoughtful.”

      “So I’m forgiven for my question about Max’s father?” The answer was important. Too much so. Jazz music, cheers and air horns blared from below, filling the heavy silence.

      “Forgiven.” She nodded tightly, her fingers digging deeper into the coat. “You’re a good man. I know that. You’re just stubborn and a little pushy.”

      “I’m a lot pushy.” The only way to forge his own path in a strong-willed family full of overachievers. “But you’re hungry and tired, so let me take charge for a while.”

      “Look that good do I?” She rolled her eyes as she walked past him and dropped into an overstuffed chair.

      Curled up with her long legs tucked under her, she looked… beautiful, vulnerable. He wanted to kiss her and wrap her in silk all at the same time, which she’d already made clear she didn’t want from him.

      So he would settle for getting her fed, and hopefully along the way, figure out why she had dark circles under her eyes that seemed deeper than from a lack of sleep. He crouched in front of her. “You look like a new mom who hasn’t been getting much rest.”

      And she looked like a woman still in mourning.

      Her eyes stayed on the nursery nook, the crib a shadowy outline behind the mosquito net privacy curtain. “He has to eat more often, smaller meals to keep down any food at all.”

      There was no missing the pain and fear in her voice. Right now it wasn’t about him. Or even Kevin. It was about her kid. “When was the problem diagnosed?”

      “At his six-week checkup we suspected something wasn’t right.” She adjusted a framed photo, the newborn kind of scrunch-faced kid with a blue stocking cap. “He wasn’t gaining weight the way he should. By two months, the doctors knew for sure. Since then, it’s been a balancing act, trying to get him stronger for surgery, but knowing he can only thrive so much without the operation.”

      With every word she said, he became more convinced driving here had been the right thing to do. She needed him.

      “That has to be scary to face alone. Is your family flying out?”

      “They came over when he was born. There’s only so much time they can take off from work, especially since I live so far away.” She set the photo down and crossed her arms again, closed up tight. “They offered to let me live at home, but I need to finish school. We’re settled in a routine here with our doctors and my job.”

      “How do you hold down a job, go to school and take care of a baby?”

      “I do web design for corporations—something I can do from home.” She waved at the hutch in the corner. “Half my classes are online. Max spends very little time with a sitter, an older lady who works part-time at the antique store downstairs. She comes here to watch him when I’m away. I’m lucky.”

      Lucky? A single mom running herself into the ground to care for a sick child considered herself lucky? Or just so damn independent she refused to admit she was in over her head?

      “What about Kevin’s family? Are they helping?”

      Her chin thrust out. “They don’t want anything to do with Max. They say he’s too painful a reminder of their son.”

      Hank should have figured as much. The one time he’d met Kevin’s family, they’d come across as self-absorbed, more into their vacation than their son. More likely they were ignoring Max because he interfered with their retirement plans. “At least Max has his father’s life insurance money.”

      She stayed silent. Her fist unfurled to flick the gold fringe on a throw pillow.

      Damn. He sat up straighter. “They did give him the money, right? Or at least some of it?”

      “Kevin didn’t know Max existed.” She folded her hands carefully on her knees. “Kevin’s parents were listed as his beneficiaries.”

      “I’ll