See Jane Love - By Debby Conrad Page 0,7

you Gabe’s going to drive Janie home.”

“But--”

“If you don’t trust me, Sara . . .” Gabe’s voice trailed off.

“It’s not that, it’s . . . Of course, I trust you.” Sara tipped her head to look at Janie. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Just peachy.”

Alex took the small, tan purse from his wife and opened it. “Here are her apartment keys,” he said, handing the key ring to his brother. Then he gave Gabe directions to her apartment, as if she couldn’t possibly have done that herself. Then again . . .

“Call me tomorrow, Janie,” Sara yelled as Gabe made his way to the front door and out into the cool night air.

He headed down the walk and toward the black Camaro convertible as Janie bounced along, draped over his shoulder. He’d parked his car out front right behind her yellow VW bug. After settling her in the passenger seat and securing her with a seatbelt, he came around to the driver’s side and hopped in.

“Can you please hurry?” If she were going to be sick, she wanted to do it in the privacy of her own bathroom, not along the road somewhere.

“You bet,” he said with a smirk as he fired up the engine and put the car into gear. “I can’t wait to hear all about this problem of yours.” With that, he jerked the car away from the curb, sending her hair flying in all directions.

Lord have mercy, was all she could think.

CHAPTER TWO

Gabe saw the address on the red brick four-unit and pulled into the parking lot. This is it, he thought, scanning the doors for Apartment C. When he spotted it, he coasted into a nearby parking space and cut the engine.

Jane Callahan’s head popped up, and she pushed her auburn curls from her face. Having the top down had done a number on her hair. It was a mass of riotous spirals, aiming every which way.

“Hey, this is where I live!” Her expression was one of surprise and confusion. She hadn’t said a word during the ten-minute drive, and he’d wondered if she might have passed out. Her head had slumped against the car door almost as soon as they’d taken off and hadn’t moved, until now.

Gabe played along. “Really?” He figured she couldn’t be too wasted if she recognized her townhouse. He got out of the car and made his way around to the passenger side. After opening the door, he released her seatbelt and went to reach for her.

“Please,” she said, staying him with a hand. “I’ll admit I might need a little help getting inside, but I don’t want to be hung upside down again with my butt in your face.”

It was all Gabe could do not to laugh at her. Instead, he shrugged, lifted her into his arms and headed for the front door. “I didn’t mind.”

“I’ll just bet you didn’t.” She gripped his neck with both hands. “Don’t drop me.”

No chance of that, he thought. She didn’t weigh much more than a box of tissues. Maneuvering her in his arms, he managed to unlock her door, then patted the wall, feeling for a light switch. “Here we are,” he said, flipping on the light. “Home, sweet, home.”

But to Gabe’s surprise, the living room was anything but sweet. It was an extremely messy contrast of styles. Totally opposite of her sister’s home.

The sofa was a black, leather, contemporary piece, while the adjacent recliner was covered with a floral chintz. The coffee table and end table were made of pine, and sat atop a worn-and-frayed Oriental rug. There was an antique quilt hanging over the back of the maple rocker. Both sofa and chairs were cluttered with odds and ends; magazines, clothing items and whatnots. Everything looked neglected, except for a few thriving potted plants. Apparently, she took care of them.

Books, of all genres, lined the shelves of the oak bookcase and spilled over onto the hardwood floor. And the walls were decorated with posters of blown-up book covers from the six novels she’d had published. Mostly pictures of men and women in various stages of dress--or undress, rather--embracing one another.

Being curious, he’d read some of her books, and although the romance genre wasn’t one he normally enjoyed, he’d found her style rather entertaining. She had a wicked sense of humor. Not that he’d ever told her so.

They’d never talked much in the ten years he’d known her, let alone gotten friendly with one another. She was Sara’s little sister, and therefore out