Free Borrowed Bride by Patricia Coughlin

couldn’t face and conquer, if he set his mind to it. He was a man who disdained weakness in others, but most of all in himself. And Gaby’s hold on him—as private and unacknowledged as it was—represented a weakness. She was like a fever he couldn’t shake, a craving that simmered in the darkest corners of his soul.
    His feelings for her confused and intimidated and irritated him in about equal parts. He wasn’t good with feelings in general, and the only person he would ever have even attempted to discuss these particular feelings with was Joel, and of course that had always been out of the question.
    The fact that Joel was dead only made the situation worse. Another man might feel that a friend’s widow was not quite as forbidden as a friend’s wife. Connor’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. Obviously good old Adam subscribed to that philosophy. But not him. Oh, he understood that she was a young woman and life went on and all that. But as far as he was concerned, she was still Joel’s and still off-limits and she always would be. Maybe if he hadn’t had these feelings before, while Joel was alive, it would be different. But he had.
    Of course, it had been easier to accept that she was off-limits when he was in Mexico with half a continent between them. It was clear that now that he was back home he was going to have to be vigilant and keep reminding himself of why he had come back in the first place. He had to remember that he was here because he owed it to Joel to protect Gaby and Toby from anyone who might hurt them. And that included him.
    Suddenly he was aware that he was clenching the screwdriver so tightly it was cutting into his palm. Loosening his grip, he stared at the motor. Maybe, he thought, trying to overhaul it this morning hadn’t been such a good idea after all. He was seriously contemplating abandoning the task in favor of the big hammock down by the water when he heard footsteps on the gravel driveway behind him. He groaned inwardly as every muscle in his body tightened in anticipation of round two with Gaby.
    She was moving at a snail’s pace, and not until she reached the front of the picnic table he was using as a workbench did Connor glance up. He was amazed to see her holding two glasses of what looked like iced coffee. Forcing a smile caused his head to throb, but he made the effort anyway.
    â€œMorning,” he said. “Which one has the arsenic?”
    She managed a small smile. “Neither. It’s meant as a peace offering.”
    â€œReally?” he asked, mock suspicion in the slight tilt of his head.
    She laughed outright. “Yes, really. Take your pick if you don’t believe me.”
    His gaze narrowed as he studied the two drinks she held out to him before reaching for the one in her right hand. The glass was cold and beaded with tiny drops of condensation, and suddenly his mouth was watering for the taste of iced coffee. He stopped with the glass only inches from his lips and eyed her over the rim. Arsenic seemed a little farfetched, but it occurred to him that there was no telling what she might have come across in Charlie’s medicine cabinet.
    â€œYou first,” he ordered.
    â€œFor heaven’s sake.” She rolled her eyes and took a big sip from the glass in her hand. “Happy?”
    â€œI wouldn’t go that far,” he muttered, and chugged half of his coffee in one gulp.
    Gaby regarded him with amusement. “I was going to ask if you wanted more sugar, but evidently it’s okay as it is.”
    â€œIt’s perfect. Thank you.” He took another, more restrained sip, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Lowering his glass, he glanced at her T-shirt and shorts and was instantly assailed by an image of her clad only in the bra and panties he knew she had to be wearing underneath. The day suddenly seemed even hotter. “I see the clothes fit,” he remarked,