puberty kicked in, I had stringy hair and a face like a pepperoni pizza. And I was fat. Vivienne is a lovely woman, and extremely image-conscious."
He swore. "She sounds coldhearted and selfish. For the record, you happen to be a very beautiful woman."
"That's nice of you, but I've accepted the truth. I didn't inherit any of my mother's attributes. I look more like my dad."
"Maybe that's the problem."
"What do you mean?"
"Your mom may have projected ambivalent feelings about him onto you. Or sick as it sounds, some women view all other women, even their daughters, as competition. You and your dad were pretty tight. Maybe she was jealous."
Intrigued by his insight, she paused, considering. "That never occurred to me. But your theory explains a lot. I haven't even seen Vivienne since I graduated. Whenever I try to call, her publicist says she isn't available."
"Vivienne lost the most. She missed out on knowing you. Consider yourself well-rid of her." He touched her shoulder reassuringly. "Compared to that, I had it easy. No mother at all is better than a cold, unfeeling bitch."
The memory of his first, tender kiss in the boat shimmered in her thoughts. She balled her tingling hand into a fist. "You mentioned a foster mom. What happened to your parents?"
A muscle jumped in his cheek. "Never mind. Where's your dad?"
"He's—he died when I was five."
His warm, compassionate gaze held hers for a moment before he returned his attention to the road. "Sorry, honey. I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."
"I love remembering him. He was wonderful. The year before he died, Vivienne bought him a new piano. It wasn't fancy by any means, but Dad was ecstatic. He polished it every day. I wanted to show how much I loved him, so I found a permanent marker, crawled under the keyboard and traced my hand. Then I drew a heart beside my handprint, right above where the bench slides in. I figured he'd see it when he polished, and think of me."
His lips quirked. "I'll bet that thrilled him."
"He was at work, waiting tables while he tried to get his music career started, so Vivienne saw my handiwork first. She was furious. She spanked me with a wooden spoon and sent me to my room without dinner. I sobbed myself to sleep."
Gabe's stormy green eyes flashed. "What happened when your father found out?"
"He carried me to the piano and played 'Love Me Tender,' then asked why I'd done it. When I explained, his eyes filled with tears, and I was scared I'd upset him, but you know what he did? He wrote our initials inside the heart and traced his hand on the other side of it. Dad said whenever he looked at our handprints, he'd remember how much his little girl meant to him." Her eyes brimmed with moisture, and she blinked rapidly.
"Not long afterward, Mom divorced him to live with an actor. Back then, mothers got custody, whether they deserved it or not. Six months later, Dad died. The doctor said it was pneumonia, but Dad's heart was broken. He'd lost the will to live. He died because Vivienne couldn't control her libido."
Gabe muttered something that sounded like, "That explains a lot."
"What?"
"Nothing."
She forced her voice to remain steady. "He left me the piano, but Vivienne gave it to charity. I haven't been able to play 'Love Me Tender' since. But nothing can steal my memories. When I'm upset or scared, I hum an Elvis tune, and I feel Dad beside me."
She looked at Gabe's rigid profile as he stared out the windshield, then his white-knuckled hands clutching the wheel. "I apologize, I shouldn't have rattled on like that."
"It's okay." His voice sounded husky. "I appreciate you sharing your childhood."
"Well, I've bared my sordid past. What about you?"
He frowned. "No time to get into that now, here's the courthouse. I'll follow you to the bank, like always."
She walked up the block. Gabe invariably retreated when she got too personal. His childhood must have been a nightmare, too. Someone had hurt him. Badly. Her steps faltered. Was that it, literally? Did memory of abuse make him cry out in the night, and cause the hidden pain in his eyes? Her heart turned over. No wonder he had a problem with trust.
Her thoughts whirling, she unlocked the door and punched in the alarm code.
Less than a minute later, Gabe arrived. His eyes narrowed behind the thick glasses of his disguise. "Why are you looking at me like that?"