Page 188 of Dukes for Dessert

Maggie gave a shriek, and he leapt back in surprise, responding with a yelp of his own. But then she didn’t move, and he thought it might be because she couldn’t get herself up in that stupid dress.

“You scared me!” she complained.

She didn’t look one bit grateful for his presence.

“I... er...”

Gabe glanced away, up the hill where his pasteboard lay hidden, waiting….

He felt timid, as though she had caught him at something he wasn’t supposed to be doing—only that made no sense, because he wasn’t doing anything at all. He’d only wanted to show her his new pasteboard... and… he wanted to take her sliding, and maybe hear her giggle. Only now… the thought of snuggling so close to her, putting his arms around her middle… made his chest ache.

“I saw you blubbering,” he said lamely.

“Well…” Her brows drew together. Her hands went to her hips. It almost soothed him to see the spark of fury in her eyes—almost, but not quite, because there was something different about the way she was looking at him today.

“Well, what?” he snapped, annoyed she was staring at him as though he had a wart-covered face.

“You could have said something,” she said, then added plaintively, “I’ve been waiting for you all morning!”

Precisely as she had without fail for the past four years, so why did that thought make Gabe feel so light-headed?

Hells bloody bells.

“Well,” he countered, trying to sound more collected than he was. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” He swiped a damp palm across his trousers and frowned at the catch in his voice. “Did you... um... fall? Is that why you’re crying like a baby?”

“No.” Her voice sounded odd.

Gabe scratched his head. “Are you hot?”

She screwed her face, looking bemused. “Hot?”

He knelt beside her in the grass. “You look overheated to me.”

“No.” Tears pooled in her eyes.

“Then why’s your face so red, and why are you crying?”

Maggie shrugged, looking not at all like herself.

“What’s the matter, brat?” he taunted, and then, once again, fat tears slid from her lucid green eyes and Gabe sobered. “Maggie? What’s wrong?”

She wept earnestly now, casting her head into her hands, and Gabe, without another thought, sat and scooted close, placing an arm around her shoulders. He lowered his forehead to her wet cheek and whispered against her face. “What is it, Mags? It can’t be so awful as that?”

“Oh, but it is!” Maggie cried, and then she cast herself down on the ground and buried her head into crossed arms.

Gabe laid down beside her, heat rising into his face as he did so. She shrugged away, elbowing his cheek, and his face burned hotter as he realized how close he’d come. He winced but didn’t shy away. He wouldn’t leave her now—not when she needed him.

Hell’s bells. She smelled so nice, like her father’s roses after a summer rain.

Gabe tried to concentrate on her words, but somehow couldn’t.

“Don’t you understand?” she was saying, and Gabriel blinked, confused. God knew he didn’t. He hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

What was more, he didn’t recognize his own body—nor his voice—or even the girl he’d known for so long. He rubbed at his cheek to ease the sting from her blow.

“I can never see you again,” she exclaimed. “Never! Don’t you understand?”

Good grief, she was beginning to act like a dumb girl. “Hells bells, Maggie,” he said, reasoning with her. “You see me every day.”