Page 13 of Cowboy SEAL Christmas

“Well.” Monica sipped her wine. “I guess we have about eight years to figure it all out.” She made a pained face, fisting her free hand at her heart. “Eight years. That sounds impossibly short.”

“Yeah right. It’ll takeforever.” Colin sighed gustily, holding out the rope knot for the two dogs curled by the fire. He tried to get their attention for some tug-of-war, but both Ranger and Star just stared at the boy dolefully.

Becca yawned. “I should get to cleaning up the rest of it.”

“Oh, let me. I’ll get Colin to bed and then do the rest. You did so much today.”

Becca opened her mouth to argue, but Alex was pulling her up off the couch. “Monica’s right. You did the work of ten men today. Let someone else help with cleanup.”

“You’re a guest,” Becca said with a frown as Alex started leading her toward the stairs.

“I’m a friend,” Monica replied firmly, nudging Colin with her foot. “Bedtime, little man.”

“Ugh.”

And then they were all heading for the stairs—Monica and Colin bickering over bedtimes, Alex and Becca sleepily arm in arm, and Gabe was left alone, seemingly forgotten, just him and the dogs.

He got up, ready to head out and ignore any of the idiotic disappointment in his chest. But bottles and glasses littered the coffee table, along with a few paper plates. He’d just grab those and throw them away, cutting down on some of the work Monica had to do. Quickly, before she came back down.

He collected the plates and a few bottles, disposing of them in the appropriate receptacles in the kitchen. Then he figured he could unload the dishwasher real quick, since he’d lived here before the bunkhouse had been ready and he knew where everything went.

Once he’d done that and added another load, he went back to the living room. He’d just collect the remainder of the glasses and then Monica wouldn’t have to do anything.

“Oh.”

Gabe glanced toward the sound. Monica stood at the bottom of the stairs, and he couldn’t read her expression or begin to understand what thatohhad meant.

“Got most of it done. Just these left.” He ignored the glasses he’d been going for and moved toward the door. “I was getting ready to head out though.”

Monica shook her head, grabbing her glass of wine and refilling it with the last of the bottle. “Stay. Have a drink with me.”

Gabe watched her suspiciously. “Why?”

She plopped herself onto the couch, staring at the fire instead of back at him. “Because otherwise I’m going to sit here and wallow about the passage of time. I’d rather bicker with you.”

He’d regret it—heknewhe’d regret it—and yet he couldn’t seem to resist. Much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t tired enough to sleep instead of wallow.

He was at least smart enough to take a seat in the armchair instead of next to her on the couch. And he was not about to drink any more.

“So, why aren’t you with your family?” she asked with no preamble.

Family. Funny word, that. Still, he didn’t wince. He knew he’d be asked. He had his rote answers prepared. “They live all the way on the other side of the country.”

“I do believe they have these things calledairplanes.”

“Really? Haven’t heard of them.”

Her mouth curved, and she looked different in the flickering firelight. Fragile almost, where usually she looked impossibly sturdy and strong.

“Why aren’t you with yours?”

“My parents are on a cruise celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary.” She smiled fondly, but it died quickly. “Colin’s other grandparents don’t much care for us. Well, that isn’t fair. We remind them of Dex, and they…well, I suppose they haven’t fully dealt with their grief. I’m not sure I can blame them. I’m not sure all the therapist training in the world would help me if I ever lost…” She shook her head. “See? Morbid wallowing. I don’t want it. Say something obnoxious.”

“Marines are pussies.”

She barked out a laugh, then covered her mouth, presumably since there were people sleeping upstairs.

She had a good laugh. Loud and uninhibited. Hell, he needed a beer.

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