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  Bobby glared at him and set one foot kicking the bench in front of him. “I never said I didn’t want to play.”

  “But I thought—” Gabe tried to look confused, fearing that if Bobby even suspected that he was manipulating this conversation, he’d shut down again. “I thought that’s what your mom told me.”

  “Well, that’s what she thinks.”

  “But it’s not the truth?”

  Obviously agitated, Bobby shot to his feet. “What else was I supposed to tell her?”

  “I don’t know,” Gabe said cautiously. “Why don’t you tell me the truth and then we can figure it out together.”

  “We can’t figure it out,” Bobby shouted. “I can’t be on the team.”

  This time Gabe didn’t have to fake confusion. “Do you want to play?”

  “Sure. But I can’t, okay?”

  The kid started away and Gabe had to scramble to catch up with him. Halfway to the parking lot, he managed to grab the boy’s shoulders and turn him around. “Talk to me, Bobby. Why can’t you be on the team?”

  “Because. What if I get hurt?”

  “You have safety equipment to protect you.”

  “That doesn’t always work. Patrick McShea got a broken arm last year, and Tubby Wheatman got a concussion.”

  “You’re afraid of getting hurt, is that it?”

  “No! I’m not afraid.”

  “Then what is it, Bobby? Why won’t you play football?”

  The kid’s chin quivered and tears filled his eyes. Angrily, he dashed them away with the back of his hand. “Football’s stupid, that’s why.”

  “Says who?”

  “It’s stupid! Stupid! And I don’t want to play it ever again.”

  Bobby turned to run, but Gabe caught him easily. “Come on, Bobby. Talk to me. Tell me why you’re so upset.”

  “Because I hate stupid football.”

  “Why?”

  Bobby squirmed against the hold Gabe had on him, but he wasn’t strong enough to break away. “Because,” he shouted. “If it wasn’t for stupid football, my dad would still be alive.”

  The words hit Gabe hard enough to knock the wind from him. His grip momentarily relaxed, and Bobby sprinted across the lawn. It took Gabe a few seconds to go after him, and again he caught up and tugged the kid around to face him. “What are you talking about? Your dad died at the sawmill. How was football responsible for that?”

  Like a little wild man, Bobby threw everything he had into the fight to get away, but Gabe held on. “Talk to me, Bobby. Please. Why do you think football killed your dad? He was at work when it happened.”

  “At work because of me,” Bobby shouted. “He was only there because he wanted to come to my stupid game.” A sob racked his little body and grief contorted his face. “He went to work that day because I wanted him to come to my stupid game.”

  And he’d been carrying around the guilt for that all this time? Aching for the boy’s pain, Gabe pulled him into his arms and held him tightly. “Oh, Bobby. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “No, it wasn’t. You can’t blame yourself. Every one of us probably feels the same way. I could say that your dad was at work that day because I decided to leave the country. I’m sure your mom could find some reason to blame herself. If your dad hadn’t been working that day, Grandpa would have been dealing with that load, and Grandpa would have been the one—” The words froze in his throat as Gabe realized what he’d been about to say.

  Grandpa would have been the one who died.

  His heart hammered in his chest and the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Was that why the old man refused to talk about the accident? Did he blame himself?

  Chills rushed up Gabe’s spine, but he didn’t have time to think about that. Right now, Bobby needed his attention.

  Keeping one arm around the boy’s shoulders, Gabe started walking toward a picnic table in the shade of a towering pine. “You’re not the only one who feels guilty about your dad’s accident,” he said again. “It’s too hard to make sense of something so awful, so we come up with ways we could have changed what happened. It makes us feel less helpless somehow. If only I’d been here. If only you hadn’t had a game. If only Grandpa had taken care of that load instead, we could have changed what happened.”

  Bobby sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Maybe we could have.”

  “Maybe.” Gabe sat on the picnic bench and waited until Bobby sat beside him. “But maybe it was just your dad’s time to go. Maybe God needed him for some reason we don’t understand. Maybe we couldn’t have done anything. We’ll never know. But the one thing we do know is that your dad doesn’t want us to ruin the rest of our lives feeling guilty for what happened with his.”

  Bobby leaned forward, his arms on his thighs, his head bent. “He doesn’t know.”

  “You don’t think so?” Gabe matched his posture. “I’ve spent a lot of time traveling around the world, Bobby. I’ve lived with a lot of different people in the past ten years, and I’ve encountered a lot of different beliefs about death. You’d be amazed at how many cultures believe there’s life after we leave here.”

  Bobby’s face was filled with misery. “Do you believe it?”

  Gabe nodded. “Yeah, I do. I believe your dad’s still around when he can be, and I believe he’s aware of what’s going on in your life. I also believe that he wants you to be happy, but he knows you never will be as long as you blame yourself for what happened.”

  “But he switched his days off so he could go to my game.”

  “Because he wanted to. He was proud of you. He wanted to see you play.” Gabe straightened and put a hand on the boy’s thin shoulder. “You gave my brother something nobody else in the world did. Do you know that?”

  Bobby sniffed again and looked skeptical. “What?”

  “You made him a dad. You’re the only kid in the whole world who can call him that. And from everything I hear, he was more proud of being your dad than anything else he did.”

  Bobby’s eyes filled with tears again. “I wasn’t his real kid.”

  “No?” Gabe forced a smile. “Do you think he cared about that?”

  Bobby shook his head and a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I guess not.”

  “My dad was forced to have me as a kid,” Gabe told him. “He didn’t have any choice in the matter. Your dad, though. He picked you out. You can’t wonder if they love you when they go to all the trouble of picking you out specially.”

  “I guess not,” Bobby said again, sounding a little less distrustful. “Do you really think he’s still around? Like…a ghost?”

  “Not a ghost,” Gabe said. “A spirit, maybe.” He shook his head and plucked a blade of grass from the ground at his feet. “I haven’t worked it all out in my head, so I don’t know exactly what I believe. But I’ll tell you what I don’t believe.” He slid a glance at the kid and warmed up his smile a bit. “I don’t believe that he could be here alive and laughing one minute and then just stop existing the next. And if he is out there somewhere, I don’t believe that he likes seeing you miserable and unhappy.”

  Bobby shrugged again. “Can’t help it.”

  “Well, I’m not saying you can’t still miss him. But don’t you think he’d rather see you laughing and having fun than moping all day long? And what if he is out there somewhere? Maybe he’d like to take some time off from whatever guardian angel work he’s doing to hang out at your games.”

  Bobby actually managed a short laugh. “You think he does that?”

  “I don’t know. But if he does, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t come to watch all those other kids play.” Gabe patted the boy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you try a game or two? If it doesn’t make you feel better to be back doing things with your friends, you can always drop the team again. If it does make you feel better, then you’ll know it’s making your dad happy, too. What do you say?”

  Bobby rubbed his face with the he
els of his hands and nodded uncertainly. “I guess.”

  “You’re willing to try?”

  “I think so.”

  Eager to seal the deal before the kid could have second thoughts, Gabe stood. “Do you want to talk to Coach right now?”

  “What about Mom?”

  “Your mom will be thrilled. Trust me.”

  Bobby stood more slowly. “Are you still going to help coach the team?”

  “If Coach Russert has a spot for me, you bet.” Slinging his arm across the boy’s shoulders, Gabe turned back toward the field. “If not, I’ll just have to sit in the bleachers and cheer.”

  Bobby grinned and Gabe’s heart did a somersault. One thing was for damn sure. Walking away from this kid, when the time came, was going to be harder than Gabe had ever imagined.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CARRYING TWO GLASSES of wine, Gabe stepped out of Siddah’s kitchen and onto the patio where she was taking advantage of a rare warm evening and the opportunity to relax. He’d been biding his time for three days, waiting for a chance to tell her what was really troubling her son when Bobby couldn’t hear them.

  She glanced up as he approached, her face stunning in the moonlight, her eyes bright with an emotion he couldn’t read. A smart man in his situation would have handed her a glass and taken a seat as far away as he could get. But Gabe had been fighting his feelings for her, and losing, for weeks.

  He drew a chair close to hers and sat beside her. “I thought maybe we could both use this,” he said, handing her a glass.

  “Thank you, but I—” She broke off, accepted the glass and set it aside without drinking. “It seems I have a lot to thank you for these days.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “You got Bobby back onto the football team, and he’s more like his old self than I thought possible.” She touched his hand. It was just a brush of fingers against his skin, but it sent a shaft of heat up his arm and into his heart. “I’d say I have reason to be grateful.”

  He wanted to take her hand in his, to talk about things he shouldn’t even think, but this wasn’t the time. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the football team,” he said, struggling to keep the longing from his voice. “Bobby told me something the other day that I thought you might find interesting.”

  “Oh? What did he say?”

  “Apparently, he’s been feeling guilty about Peter’s death. He thinks he’s responsible for Peter being at work that day.”

  Siddah’s eyes flew wide and the soft look on her face vanished. “He told you that?”

  “He says Peter changed shifts so he could attend a game.”

  “Yes, he did, but Bobby wasn’t responsible for that.”

  “I tried to explain that to him, but I’m not sure he really believes me. I thought you should know, but I didn’t want to tell you while Bobby could hear. I wasn’t sure how he’d take it.”

  “Thank you for that.” Siddah rolled her head to one side and let her focus linger on his face. Again, the fingers of desire curled through him, and again he fought them off.

  “Peter did change shifts that day,” she said, “but Bobby’s game wasn’t the reason. At least, it wasn’t the only reason.”

  “Maybe you should tell Bobby that. It might help.”

  “I can’t.” She sat up straight, and her expression changed again. “I haven’t told anyone else in the family what Peter was doing.”

  Gabe didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”

  Siddah stood, and wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She stared out over the darkened backyard, gathering her thoughts. “Peter wanted to modernize the mill,” she said after a long time. “He’d been doing some research, and he wanted to bring in new equipment and update the operation.” She turned back to him, her face a mask. “He and your dad had been going the rounds for months. Monty said they couldn’t afford to retool. Peter said they couldn’t afford not to. He thought the answer was to test equipment for the manufacturer.”

  “He wanted to test equipment here?” Gabe asked, incredulous. “Was he crazy?”

  Siddah shook her head. “Not crazy, just…enthusiastic. The mill has been losing money for the past couple of years. Peter thought that retooling could help move it into the twenty-first century and make the business competitive.”

  “And the old man disagreed?”

  “That’s putting it mildly. He argued that spending money now would be foolish and drive the mill into bankruptcy.”

  Gabe couldn’t imagine Peter and his father disagreeing, but he didn’t have time to sort through that now. He moved closer, dreading what she had to say, but needing to hear it anyway. “Go on.”

  Siddah shivered again in the chill autumn air. “He believed so much in what he wanted that he mortgaged the house and took out several large loans, but the money he got wasn’t enough to refit the mill, and he spent most of it attempting to get more financing, flying experts in that he believed could convince Monty to make the changes he wanted.”

  No wonder she was frantic to get that promotion. “So the money’s gone?”

  “With nothing to show for it.”

  She looked so vulnerable, Gabe had to fight with himself to keep from taking her into his arms. “Why did Peter go to the mill that day?”

  “He was going to try again to get Monty to listen to him. The mortgage was in trouble, the loans in default, and Peter was getting nowhere.”

  “How much money are we talking about?”

  “A lot.”

  “Give me a ballpark figure.”

  “The amount of money isn’t the issue,” she said firmly. “Peter borrowed it, and he was determined to make your dad listen to him.”

  “That shouldn’t have been a problem for Peter,” Gabe said. “Dad thought the sun rose and set on him.”

  “And you think he would have gone along blindly with Peter?” Siddah laughed and shook her head. “You really don’t know Monty at all, do you?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Monty doesn’t let anybody tell him what to do, and he doesn’t like being contradicted. You ought to know that.”

  In spite of himself, Gabe laughed. “Yeah, I do know that.”

  “What you don’t seem to realize is that it doesn’t matter who it is. You’ve been so busy nursing your own grudge, you haven’t even paid attention to the way Monty acts with anyone else.”

  Gabe pulled back sharply. “Hold on a minute. I thought we were talking about the day of Peter’s accident. How did this suddenly become about me?”

  “It’s always been about you,” Siddah said, her voice soft. “You just never knew it.”

  Gabe laughed again, but the sound hurt his throat. “You’ve lost me.”

  “You really think Monty hates you, don’t you?”

  “It’s pretty hard to think otherwise.”

  “Not for Peter.” Siddah brushed a lock of hair away from her face and hooked her thumbs in the back of her waistband, inadvertently making her breasts press against the soft fabric of her blouse.

  Gabe tried not to notice but he’d never been a saint, and the way his pulse thrummed with the memory of their one brief interlude convinced him that he never would be. “What does that mean?”

  “Peter spent his whole life chasing after you. I don’t mean literally, but you were the big brother and, in Peter’s mind, you were the favorite.”

  Gabe barked a laugh. “You must have misunderstood him.”

  She shook her head. “But I didn’t. He was convinced that’s the reason Monty took your ‘defection’ so hard. He used to say that Monty would hardly have noticed if he’d been the one to leave town.”

  The smile slid from Gabe’s face. “How could he think that? The old man doted on him.”

  “According to him, the old man doted on you.” Siddah gave a weak smile and admitted, “That’s one of the reasons I resented you so much. It didn’t seem fair that Monty should prefer the son who
turned his back on the family.”

  Gabe ran a hand across his face and struggled to take that in. “Peter wasn’t serious.”

  “He was completely serious. Don’t you understand? Both of you thought the other was your father’s favorite, but your father never had a favorite. He loved you equally.”

  “If that’s true, he sure had a strange way of showing it.”

  “Not so strange,” Siddah said. “He’s a lot like you, I think.”

  “Like me?”

  “He’s not entirely like you,” Siddah said with a laugh. “Your personality is a little less abrasive. But you’re both terrified of showing anybody how you really feel, and you’d rather break your necks than reveal your emotions.”

  “That’s open for debate. And Peter?”

  “Peter was more like your mother. A lot more open. More in touch with what he felt.”

  “You seem awfully convinced that I’m not in touch with what I’m feeling.”

  Her smile slipped. “I’ve offended you.”

  “You’ve underestimated me. I know exactly what I’m feeling. I just don’t always choose to share it.”

  “What’s wrong with letting people know how you feel?”

  “I suppose that depends on what you’re feeling, and who you’re sharing it with.” He gave in to the urge and touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Not everyone would be sympathetic if I told them I’d fallen in love with my brother’s wife.”

  He held his breath, waiting to see if she’d pull away, and half-expecting her to do just that. To his surprise, she pressed her cheek against his hand. “Not everyone needs to know that. Or that I don’t seem to be able to control what I feel for you.”

  “Do you need to?”

  She pulled away gently. “You know the answer to that.”

  “I know the logical answer,” he agreed. “But it’s not the answer I want.”

  “And what is the answer you want?”

  It was his turn to smile. “You know the answer to that.” Giving up the fight, he leaned down and kissed her. The fire that had been smoldering all evening burst into flame as she moaned and leaned against him. The sound of her pleasure drove him to seek more, give more. He brushed her lips with his tongue and she opened to him eagerly. Her hands roamed across his shoulders and back, her fingers wound into his hair and held him close.