He doubted she’d ever tasted caviar. He was willing to bet she wouldn’t like it when she did—it certainly wasn’t a personal favorite of his—but he still thought it’d be fun to call her bluff. Again.

  Because he didn’t know where to look for the caviar, he went to the champagne section at Finley’s Grocery, and began studying the labels. He had plenty of wine at the cabin. Wine seemed to be his friends’ gifts of choice at Christmas. But no one had ever sent him a bottle of champagne. Considering what had happened to him, he supposed they thought it’d be in bad taste—and they were probably right.

  “Can I find something for you?” Marge Finley asked amid small puffs for air. She’d been trotting after him ever since he’d entered the store, but she was significantly overweight and had a difficult time keeping up with his chair. He’d been hoping to lose her. She’d already asked, repeatedly, if she could help him, but he wanted to shop by himself.

  “No, thanks.” Selecting a bottle of the best champagne there, he put it in the basket he carried on his lap. Then he pivoted away from her and started down the aisle to search for the caviar.

  “Nice choice,” she said, at his elbow once again.

  He turned the corner and gathered speed, but she continued to follow. When she began to hum along with the Celine Dion song being piped through the store’s sound system, Gabe finally admitted to himself that he’d be smarter to let her help him. At least then she’d have to leave his side. “Actually…”

  When he stopped, she nearly ran into the back of him. “Oops, I guess you need some brake lights on that thing, huh?” She laughed, knocking into a display while trying to stop her forward motion.

  Gabe eyed the teetering soup cans to be sure they weren’t going to fall, then forced a smile. Marge was trying to be nice; she wasn’t intending to drive him crazy. “Could you tell me if you carry Beluga caviar?”

  She quickly stabilized the display she’d nearly demolished. “We don’t have any, but we can order some, if you like. It won’t take more than a few days to come in. Would you like me to check the price?”

  “No, I need it today. What about chocolate-covered strawberries? Could you get me some of those?”

  Marge didn’t bother hiding her surprise. She propped her hands on her wide hips. “Gee, what’s the occasion? You generally buy nuts and trail mix.”

  “I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

  She tucked the wisps of hair coming loose from her long braid behind her ears. “Well, I’m afraid we don’t have any chocolate-covered strawberries, either. They go bad too fast.”

  At this point, he was grateful he had the steaks in his freezer. “No problem. Thanks, anyway.”

  “You could always make them yourself,” she said, coming after him again.

  “How?”

  She motioned with her arms as she explained. “Wash and dry your berries first. Then melt a bag of milk-chocolate chips with a dab of Crisco—maybe a tablespoon or so—in the microwave. Don’t leave it in too long, mind you, or your chocolate’s gonna burn. After that, stir the chocolate until it’s smooth, then go ahead and dip. Remember to put the covered berries on greased waxed paper when you’re done. And if you’re gonna add anything fancy, do it before they set up.”

  “Fancy, like what?” he asked.

  “Oh, you could sprinkle them with nuts or coconut or crushed candy, or drizzle white chocolate over the top. Anything, really.”

  Marge looked like a woman who knew what she was talking about when it came to desserts. And, considering the level of difficulty involved in some of the furniture he made, Gabe thought he could handle a few chocolate-dipped strawberries. “Do you have the big kind of berries?”

  “Not the ones with the stems, like they sell in those expensive boutiques and such. But we can certainly round up a few baskets of berries that’ll work nicely.”

  “Sounds good.” He started down the aisle toward the produce section, but she surprised him with a burst of speed.

  “I’ll get everything for you.”

  If people didn’t stand back and stare as if they were afraid his wheelchair might bite them, they tried to do too much for him. But at least she couldn’t be in two places at one time. Instead of rejecting her offer yet again, he waited at the front register, nodding and smiling at everyone who turned to gawk at him as they passed by.

  When she returned, she was breathing as if she’d run a mile, but she was smiling broadly. “This should do it.”

  “Thanks,” he said, hoping he was the only one who heard the dry note to his voice.

  As she headed behind the register to ring him up, Gabe glanced at the small cooler of flowers he’d noticed while waiting. He wondered how long it had been since anyone had bought Hannah flowers, doubted Russ had been the type. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to add a bouquet to his purchases. He was only trying to help Hannah get past the accident, not set the entire town abuzz with gossip.

  “Will there be anything else?” Marge asked as she scanned his items.

  A package of condoms caught his eye. Most stores sold birth control from a regular, easily accessible shelf. But a couple of years ago, Finley’s had taken to locking it in a case behind the counter. They were trying to protect the morals of Dundee’s youth, but teen pregnancies had soared ever since—and Gabe found it quite curious that no one seemed to be able to figure out why.

  “That’ll be seventy-eight dollars and fourteen cents,” she said, hitting the total button even though he hadn’t yet responded to her question.

  Gabe’s attention returned to the condoms. For the first time in three years, he wanted to buy some. But he’d just rejected a bouquet of flowers because of the potential for gossip. Surely he’d be a fool to buy condoms here. Marge would be on the phone before he could leave the store….

  He could go over to the drugstore. But the situation wouldn’t be any different there.

  God, he was tired of the unrelenting interest of everyone around him. At times he was tempted to move away from Dundee, but where would he go? After the fame he’d known, he’d have to leave the country to escape recognition. And he wasn’t about to do that. Since the accident, there was definitely something comforting about home.

  He considered his recent restlessness, how often he’d thought about sex this week….

  It was just a passing mood, he decided. Nothing he needed to act on. His body was starting to adjust to his condition. But that frightened him more than anything. He couldn’t accept what had happened, couldn’t adapt too much—or twenty years from now he’d still be rolling around in a damn wheelchair.

  Forget the condoms.

  “Give me the purple hydrangea plant you have right there next to the cooler,” he said.

  A hydrangea plant wasn’t like a dozen roses. Still, Marge’s eyebrows, which looked like they’d been drawn on with a pencil, lifted almost to her hairline. “You want to buy flowers?”

  Good thing he hadn’t asked for the condoms. “Isn’t that what hydrangeas are?”

  “Yes, but I…sure, okay.” Marge’s shoes squished as she walked to the cooler and back. “That’ll be a hundred and twenty-three dollars and sixty cents,” she said, giving him his new total as she set the pot of flowers with his other purchases.

  He pulled out his wallet and handed her two crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. But the damn condoms seemed to be calling his name…. He resented the craving that prompted the purchase. But he resented even more the fact that he couldn’t ask for them as casually as the next guy.

  Screw it, he thought. Let ’em talk. They did anyway. “And I’ll take a package of those,” he added.

  Marge hesitated, money in hand, and turned to look where he was pointing. When she realized what he wanted, her eyes nearly popped out of her head, and he halfway expected her to blurt out, “I didn’t know you could still do that!”

  “I’m over eighteen,” he said when she didn’t react right away. “I’d be happy to show you my ID if you’d like.”

  “What?” she gasped. “ID? Oh, no. I don’t need that.” Her face flushed bright red as she withdrew a ring of keys from the pocket of her smock and started sorting through them. “Do you want the—the Trojans or…”

  As long as he was thumbing his nose at the gossips, he figured he might as well do it right. “Give me a size large in the natural sheepskin.”

  She set the box on the counter, then fumbled to get the case locked up again. He was about to ask her if she could do that later when he heard a voice he recognized. “Looks like you’ve got a hot date, Gabe.”

  Deborah Wheeler was just getting in line behind him. When he saw her, he nearly cursed out loud. Six months or so ago, he’d run into her at the gas station. She’d approached him to say she’d gone to school with him. He barely remembered her, but for the sake of being polite, he didn’t say so. They’d talked a little about football, then he’d left with a polite thank-you for the compliments she’d paid him. He’d never dreamed that simple exchange would give her the encouragement to call him. But it did. Her calls and invitations had continued, unrelenting, for several weeks.

  Finally, he’d had to tell her he wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship with her—and she hadn’t taken the news very well. She’d hung up on him, and followed that up with a couple of scathing letters, accusing him of thinking he was better than everyone else and telling him that rejecting her was probably the biggest mistake of his life.

  She was not the kind of person he wanted to see him buy condoms for the first time since suffering a major spinal cord injury….

  “Or, considering your condition…” Her eyes swept over his legs, which, for the most part, he couldn’t feel, and focused on his groin, “Those must be for a few of the boys on the football team, huh?”

  He knew what she was suggesting—that he couldn’t get enough of an erection to make a condom worthwhile. He could tell by the way she looked at him. Ever since he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in her, she’d been absolutely vindictive.

  Anger and humiliation ripped through Gabe with a vengeance, but he refused to give her the reaction she obviously wanted. “It’s nice to see you again, too, Deborah.”

  Marge frowned. “You wouldn’t give these to the boys, would you? I mean…they’re not old enough. That’s why we put them in the case.”

  A triumphant smile lit Deborah’s face when Marge followed her lead but, although Gabe’s blood raced with fury, he kept his expression perfectly pleasant. “No worries about that,” he said. “This box won’t last me through the weekend.”

  Marge blushed and giggled, obviously relishing his response. Deborah’s mouth formed a surprised O.

  Taking his change and his groceries, he started wheeling away. “Have a nice day, ladies.”

  “Who are the flowers for?” Deborah called after him, but he didn’t respond. He’d been stupid to buy them in the first place.

  * * *

  HANNAH WAS LOOKING FORWARD to helping Gabe. Washing windows was one more thing she could do to improve his life in some small way. But she was torn about leaving the house. Sly’s mother had called earlier, claiming Kenny had attacked her son without provocation and saying Hannah would have to pay the medical bills for Sly’s stitches. Hannah was worried about the money, but she was even more concerned about Kenny. What had made him hurt Sly? She’d called Tuck’s house several times already, hoping Kenny’s best friend could explain the mystery, but Tuck and his mother had been gone all day.

  As Hannah rounded the final bend in the road before the turn-off to Gabe’s driveway, the clock on her dashboard read three-thirty. There was a possibility that Kenny and Brent might beat her home tonight, she realized. She didn’t want that, but she knew Russ was just as likely to keep them out late as bring them home early. He was so unpredictable.

  Her tires crushed several pinecones as she turned into Gabe’s drive and headed through the trees that towered along both sides. She loved the dappled sunshine and the scents she encountered up here, even the ones associated with Gabe—especially the ones associated with Gabe. He was the kind of man who never smelled distinctly of cologne. She doubted he wore any. Generally, he smelled of freshly laundered clothes, warm skin, cool air and fresh-cut wood.

  Spotting that handcrafted chair on his porch again, she smiled. He could do anything. She’d never seen furniture so—

  Suddenly her smile faded. What was she thinking? He couldn’t walk or play football, which were the two things he wanted to do more than anything else. And he couldn’t do them because of her….

  With a sigh, she cut the engine and got out. She should’ve moved away when her mother died. She should have gone to college somehow. She could have searched for grants, explored the possibility of student loans. She could have done any number of things.

  Instead, she’d married Russ.

  When she reached Gabe’s front door, she knocked loudly, then turned to gaze out over the yard. Because of a slight breeze, the weather was cooler today than it had been for the past week. She imagined Christmas here at the cabin, knew it’d look like a winter wonderland.

  The minutes stretched, but she couldn’t hear Lazarus inside and no one came to the door. Where was Gabe? He knew she was coming and she could see his truck in the drive.

  After another quick knock, she finally went around to the gate. Sure enough, as she drew closer, she could hear the grating of an electric saw. He was working in his shop.

  She let herself into the backyard, where she found Lazarus lying on the porch at a relatively safe distance from the noise. He stood as though he wanted to greet her but didn’t approach when she veered toward the workshop, where Gabe was sitting, wearing a pair of goggles and cutting a thick piece of wood.

  “Hello!” Hannah called out but he couldn’t hear her. When she deemed it safe, she touched his shoulder.

  The sudden silence rang in her ears when he turned off the saw and lifted his goggles. He twisted to look up at her, but he didn’t smile. There was a hard edge to the set of his jaw, and she could see lines of tension in his face.

  “Cleaning stuff’s in the house,” he said. “Door’s open.”

  Hannah hesitated. Something was obviously wrong. After seeing him in such good humor last night, after talking freely with him and having him taunt her and tease her, this turn of mood stole all the warmth from the day.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Of course. I’m always okay.”

  But he wasn’t. Hannah could tell he was trying for his usual façade of indifference, but for some reason he was struggling to pull it off today. The tension humming through him was almost palpable.

  She certainly hadn’t expected such a drastic change in him. But emotion was normal, she reminded herself. This was what she wanted from him. Something real, even if it wasn’t nice. “You’re upset.”

  He started to put his goggles back on, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Why, Gabe?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I can’t imagine.”

  “You were fine last night. What happened?”

  “Nothing new.”

  “Does it have to do with your father?”

  She felt the muscles of his arm bunch beneath her hand—right before he shook her off. “You might as well go home. The window thing…and dinner. It’s not going to work out today.”

  “Maybe dinner’s not going to work out, but I can still do the windows,” she said.

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “Why not?”

  No answer.

  “Gabe, quit shutting me out,” she said gently. “We all hurt once in a while.”

  The scowl that marred his good looks deepened. “I didn’t have time to make dinner.” He dug a twenty out of his wallet and tried giving it to her. “Here, get something in town.”

  She batted his hand away. “I don’t want your money.”

  “Fine.” He tossed the bill on a nearby table and started the saw again.

  Despite the noise, Lazarus slunk closer. His wet nose nudged her palm, and he watched Gabe as though he sensed his master’s pain.

  Hannah wanted to help Gabe. She just didn’t know how. He’d asked her to leave, but she knew if she did she’d probably never hear from him again, except maybe in the capacity of Kenny’s coach. He was trying to regroup, put the distance back into their relationship.

  “Gabe.”

  His dark head whipped around to look up at her. “Damn it, I said—”

  “I know what you said,” she shouted because he hadn’t stopped the saw. “But I’m not leaving. I’m asking you not to make me suffer through any more of your unhappiness.”

  The saw stopped.

  Hannah’s heart pounded as Gabe stared up at her with a scorching anger in his eyes. But she didn’t regret what she’d said. If he wouldn’t pull out of his emotional nosedive for his own sake, maybe he’d do it for someone else. “Please?” she added softly.

  He shook his head as if what she asked was too much for him.

  Hannah meant to soothe him in a way she might have soothed Kenny or Brent. She needed to reassure him, to reassure herself that they could get through the aftermath of that damn accident. If only he’d open up, they could do it together. But when she bent forward to press her lips lightly to his forehead, she suddenly found his mouth instead. She wasn’t sure if she’d changed targets or he’d moved, but the next thing she knew, she was kissing him as though she’d rather die than stop.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT HAD BEEN AGES since Gabe had kissed a woman. And it felt even longer. Almost at first contact, the anger that had simmered inside him since he’d left Finley’s Grocery rose up like a great tidal wave. As she parted her lips and welcomed the eager onslaught of his tongue, that anger seemed to crash into and ignite with the surprising passion of her response. For one fleeting second, he wanted to bite her, to hurt her the way he was hurting, to maim, to punish, to strike out. But that passed almost immediately. Then the anger and everything else distilled into one very primitive urge, and all he could think about was burying himself inside her. He imagined driving into her again and again, could almost feel his muscles shake with the strain, his nerves tense with the anticipation….