Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel by Virginia Kantra Page A

grew up in Brightmoor. That’s Detroit,” he added in response to her obviously blank look. “Shitty neighborhood. Not much home life generally. Lucky for me, my uncle took me in.”
    She tried to recall what Sam had said. “Is he the one who taught you to be a carpenter?” she guessed, ridiculously pleased when he nodded.
    Gabe nodded. “Uncle Chuck. My mom’s brother. He took me around in his truck with him, kept me off the streets and out of trouble. Mostly.” His grin flashed, making nerves all over her body tingle. “I would have landed in jail a lot sooner if it weren’t for Uncle Chuck. He was a great guy.”
    Ignore the tingling. Remember the jail part. Don’t be stupid.
“Was?” she repeated.
    “He died of this massive stroke. When I was seventeen.” Gabe’s voice scraped as if he hadn’t used it in a while. As if he were sharing things with her that he didn’t usually say.
    As if maybe her telling her story had made it possible for him to tell his, the way friends do.
    Jane caught herself. This was wishful thinking, the kind of stupid fantasizing that got her into trouble. Seeing things in people that weren’t really there. Making up a relationship in her head based on yearning and attraction instead of reality.
    “We were on a job together, fixing some rotten windows,” Gabe said. “Uncle Chuck didn’t feel so good, so I went up on the ladder.” There was still that trace of . . . something in his voice, deep and intimate. “He made this sound . . .” Gabe broke off, and Jane’s heart broke a little, too. “Nothing they could do, the doctors said.”
    “I am so sorry.”
    Gabe shrugged, so much like Aidan when he was pretending not to care that she wanted to put her arms around him and give him a big hug. Rub his back. Kiss the top of his head, his cheek, his . . .
    Except he wasn’t Aidan, and she was an idiot. “You must miss him very much,” she said softly.
    “Miss him. Missed having a job.”
    “So instead of being a contractor, you decided to join the Marines.”
    His face closed. “Something like that. Yeah.”
    “How did your parents feel about that? Your mother?”
    He gave her a funny look. Jane flushed. Because, yes, dumb question. What mother alive wanted her son to get shot at?
    “She was fine with it.” He looked at the big wall clock hanging above the wedding cake display. “Aren’t you supposed to kick everybody out now?”
    Subject closed, his tone said. End of discussion.
    Okay.
    She should have been relieved. She had Aidan and herbakery. She had freedom and security. She wasn’t jeopardizing those for a man again.
    Gabe Murphy was a threat to her in ways that had nothing to do with his broad shoulders and big hands, his muscled arms and history of violence. He made her feel things. Want things. That liquid tug of sympathy, those flashes of understanding, were more seductive to her than sex.
    Not that she would turn down sex, if he offered.
    That is, she would, of course she would, but . . .
    Crap
. Heat swept her face.
    Gabe stood watching her with that unreadable expression, a glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
    She couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking.
    Just as well, Jane acknowledged. Because her own thoughts scared her enough.
    *   *   *
     
    G ABE PRIED THE big double window from its frame. Son of a bitch must weigh three hundred pounds. Getting it out was a two-man job. But there was just him. Unless he counted Jane, inside doing some kind of prep work in the kitchen. And her son, taking half-assed shots at a rusty basketball rim attached to a pole by the carport. Outside its shadow, the dog dozed in the late afternoon sun.
    So, just him.
    The dribble, dribble,
thunk
of the ball alternated with the solid
thwack
of Gabe’s mallet. He pounded again at the jamb—the dog raised its head from its paws at the noise, ears on alert
—
and tugged again at the bottom. Wood creaked. Cracked. His arms took the