Gabriel's Promise (Gabriel's Inferno 4)

“You aren’t lost.” Gabriel’s tone was firm. He lifted Julia’s chin and took her lips in a slow, sweet kiss. “We will never be lost, so long as we have each other.”

Julia kissed him. “I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t imagine trying to navigate this by myself.”

Gabriel pressed his lips together. Once again, he remembered the important email but decided it was not the appropriate moment to mention it.

He gestured toward the window. “We have a thousand and one flamingos on our front lawn. You’re far from alone.”

Julia looked up into Gabriel’s very serious, slightly irritated face. And she burst out laughing.

Chapter Five

That afternoon, Gabriel glared at a myriad of metal attachments, screws, and plastic pieces, which were arranged with military precision atop the nursery carpet.

(It should be noted there were no flamingos in sight.)

He cast a baleful look at an empty box on which an infant swing was jauntily displayed and scowled again at the arranged pieces. “Son of a—”

A throat cleared behind him.

Gabriel turned to see Richard standing in the doorway, holding Clare.

The infant was fussing and Richard was doing his best to soothe her, holding her close and moving back and forth.

“Where’s Julianne?” Gabriel approached the doorway and lightly touched the baby’s head.

“Taking a well-earned nap. Clare is supposed to be napping as well, but she isn’t settling. I said I’d walk her around and see if she’d nod off.” Richard spoke in low, soothing tones while rubbing gentle circles on the infant’s back.

“I can take her.” Gabriel held out his arms.

“Oh, no. I’m eager to have as much time with my new granddaughter as possible. We’ll keep you company.” Richard stepped nimbly around the many metal pieces and went to stand by the window. “How’s it going?”

Gabriel gestured vaguely at the detritus on the carpet. “I’m wrestling a baby swing.”

Richard chuckled. “I’ve done that before. And put together bicycles and impossible-to-assemble toys on Christmas Eve. My advice is to ignore your instinct to figure it out yourself and follow the instructions.”

“I have a PhD from Harvard. Surely I can figure out how to put together a baby swing.”

“I have a PhD from Yale.” Richard’s gray eyes sparkled. “And I know enough to read the instructions.”

Gabriel smiled wryly. “Well, I can’t have a Yalie outdo me.” He stuck his head into the large box and retrieved a booklet of directions. He adjusted his glasses. “These are in Chinese, Spanish, Italian, and German.”

“I put together one of those swings when Grace and I brought Scott home from the hospital. I’d been up a

ll night and put the legs on backward. I couldn’t figure out why it wouldn’t balance until Grace fixed it.”

Gabriel snickered and peered more closely at the booklet. “The Italian directions don’t make any sense. They must have hired a first-year student to translate them. I shall have to write a letter to the company.”

Richard regarded his son with barely disguised amusement. “Perhaps you should assemble it first.” He cleared his throat. “Scott’s delivery was relatively easy compared to Clare’s. Julia looked pale when I left her a few minutes ago.”

Gabriel lowered the instructions. “I’ll go check on her.”

“Rachel was in there with her plumping pillows and drawing the blinds. But you should probably look in on her soon.”

Gabriel rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. “The delivery did not go as expected.”

Richard bowed his head so he could see Clare’s face. Her eyes were closed. He slowed his movements, still rocking back and forth. “Julia will need care and lots of support. Are you on leave or—”

“Ah. Here’s the English part.” Gabriel hid his face as he pored over the instructions. “Yes, I’m on paternity leave.”