Fall From Grace. Kristi Gold
barbecue, and not seeming to mind at all. “They’re young, Bryce. And in love.”
“He told me they’re just friends, so get your head out of the romantic clouds.”
“Friendship is a wonderful place to start,” she said. “We started as friends.”
“I’m still not sure he’s good enough for her.”
“You said yourself he’s gifted. ‘Destined for greatness’ is how you put it. Maybe your standards are just a tad high?”
“But that’s the problem, Dee. Anne’s always resented my absence from her life. She’s not going to settle for anything less than all his time, and that’s not possible. Not if he’s going to be all he’s meant to be.”
“I managed fine, dear heart. Anne will, too. She’s tough. And I suspect she’ll learn that some sacrifices are simply worth it.”
Bryce draped an arm around her shoulder. “She’s her mother’s daughter.”
“She’s your daughter, honey. Headstrong. Determined. She knows her heart, so we’re going to have to trust her. And if she’s lucky, she’ll have what we have.”
He shifted to face her and braced his palms on her shoulders, even deeper disquiet showing in his expression. “If anything happened to me, would you find someone else?”
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“But if it does, you should find someone else,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to be alone. I’m serious about this, Dee.”
Delia didn’t care to consider a life without her husband. “If, God forbid, I do outlive you, I can’t imagine finding anyone who’d have such a dearth of sense that he’d be willing to put up with me.”
He smiled the smile that Delia had come to know so well, had come to cherish as much as she cherished him. She wished for Anne the blessings of that kind of a smile, the contentment of recognizing where you belonged and who you belonged with, the love of a good man. Anne deserved Jack’s love. They deserved each other. And regardless of what the future might hold, Delia realized that she herself would never find anyone to replace her husband—
“You look real nice in pink.”
Startled, Delia turned her attention from the window and the memory to the voice and its owner, who was standing a few feet away. With a full head of silver hair and first-class features, the man might have been labeled debonair had it not been for his tie resting loose and askew against his burgundy shirt. His navy suit was neat and nicely pressed, but definitely not Armani. More like outlet. She would guess him to be mid-fifties, and he appeared rather tall, but compared with Delia, everyone was.
Once Delia had established that he was in fact speaking to her, she sent him a tentative smile and told him, “Thank you,” when she dearly wanted to mention that about thirty other women in the adjacent room were dressed in the same color smock. But good grace dictated she be kind. Besides, she couldn’t remember the last time a man had paid her a compliment.
He forked a hand through his hair and returned her smile. “Hope you didn’t take offense at what I said.” His voice reflected the drawl many native Texans favored, a throwback to when Dallas hadn’t been such a cultural melting pot.
“No offense taken, Mr.—?”
“Gabe Burks.”
Delia lightly clasped the hand that he offered for a shake. It felt warm and dry, slightly calloused but pleasantly masculine. “I’m Mrs. Delia Cooper, Mr. Burks.”
“It’s just ‘Gabe,’ Delia.”
Had she been alive, Delia’s mother would have lectured the stranger for calling a lady by her first name without so much as an invitation. Delia found it refreshing.
“So you’re married, huh?” Gabe asked.
“Actually, I’m widowed.”
His expression brightened. “Yeah? Me, too. How long?”
“Almost eight years.”
“Three for me. Cancer?”
People always assumed that had to have been the cause of her husband’s demise. In reality, Bryce had worked himself to death. “Heart. He was very driven in his job.”
“That’ll get you every time. But not me. Not if I can help it. Life’s too short to burn the candle at both ends.”
Delia relaxed somewhat, intrigued by this man who claimed there was more to life than work. “Are you retired?”
“Nope. Not yet. I’m an attorney. One of the hospital’s attorneys.”
Bryce would be livid if he learned that his wife was socializing with the enemy—“swamp feeders,” he used to call all attorneys. Oh, well. What Bryce didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Delia had never put much stock in the theory that a ticket to heaven included a pass with carte blanche to watch over surviving loved ones. At least, she hoped not.
Gabe inclined his head toward the banquet room. “Were you in the meeting?”
“Yes, I was, but my knee started cramping, so I came out here. That old arthritis. It acts up now and then, especially in this weather.” She raised a hand to her chest, feeling a nip of guilt over handing Gabe Burks a lie. Sometimes lies were necessary. Better a lie than revealing her contempt for the keynote speaker.
“Actually, I left because I was about to fall asleep,” Gabe said.
Total honesty. That brought about another flash of guilt in Delia. “Mr. Crabtree does tend to go on and on.” He also tended to create havoc in Anne’s life on a regular basis. The man had carried a torch for her daughter for years, and he continued to do so without Anne’s encouragement.
“I take it you’re a volunteer,” Gabe said.
“Yes. I spend much of my time at the hospital.” A sad commentary on her life.
“That’s admirable. I’m a little surprised we haven’t met, but then, I’m holed up in an office when I’m here.”
Applause rang out from the nearby room, signaling the end of Crabby’s speech. Delia felt obligated to say her goodbyes to friends before manning the lobby information desk for the afternoon—a reminder of how much she had conformed to proper behavior. “Well, I need to get on with my day, Gabe.” His name rolled easily off her tongue, as if she’d known him for years, not minutes.
“Yeah, I guess I should go, too.”
Neither of them moved for a long moment, until Gabe closed the gap between them with a few steps, catching Delia off guard. Yet she didn’t feel the urge to move back, perhaps because she wanted to get a better glimpse at his eyes to further assess him. A woman could tell a lot from a man’s eyes. His were a mossy green and reflected a certain self-assurance.
“Do you think you might like to have dinner with me sometime?” he asked.
“Me?” Good grief. Who else would he be talking to? Certainly not the wilting fern in the corner—unless in reality he had escaped from the psych ward. A possibility, Delia decided. Why else would he be asking her to dinner, a total stranger and a grandmother—granted, a grandmother in the process of being dragged kicking and screeching into her twilight years.
“Just dinner,” he said when she failed to respond. “Unless you already have a boyfriend, Delia.”
How funny to have her name mentioned in the same sentence with boyfriend. She hadn’t been involved with anyone since Bryce’s death. Nor had she even considered something so ludicrous, until now. “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”
His grin expanded, lighting up his eyes. “A woman as attractive as you ought to be fighting them off with a stick.”
He was out and out flirting