Seven Sisters Read Free Page B

eating,” I said, patting the top of Gabe’s hand.
    Gabe shook his head and took another bite, his expression stern. “You’d better not be quitting school again or tell me you’re on drugs or in trouble with the law.”
    “It’s not any of those things,” Sam said quickly, taking a seat across from Gabe. “I swear.”
    Gabe’s face relaxed as he pushed aside his empty plate. “Then anything else is a piece of cake.”
    I unwrapped the foil-covered plate and held it out to him. “Have a cookie.”
    His eyes lit up at the sight of his favorite dessert.
    “Better make it two,” Sam encouraged.

3
    “I’M WHAT?” GABE bellowed.
    Sam yelled back, the timbre of his voice an eerie, younger version of his father’s. “I said you’re going to be a grandfather. Get over it.”
    I pushed my way between the two glowering Ortiz men, resting my hands firmly on Gabe’s chest. “Gabe, we can work this out. It’s a little inconvenient maybe, but . . .”
    “I should have expected as much from you,” Gabe said over my head. “And just who is this girl you got in trouble?”
    “She’s not in trouble, ” Sam snapped. “She’s pregnant, and we’re going to get married. No big deal.”
    “Married! And what do you plan to do then? Where are you going to live? What are you going to eat? How are you going to support this girl and her baby?”
    “Dad,” Sam said, his voice lower. “I love her, and it’s my baby, too.”
    I moved from between them and watched as the realization of what Sam said hit Gabe. His Adam’s apple moved once in a convulsive swallow. He cleared his throat and asked in a less harsh voice, “Who is she?”
    Sam looked at me in desperation. I nodded in encouragement but kept a hand on Gabe’s forearm.
    Sam straightened his spine and said in a composed voice, “Bliss Girard.”
    Gabe’s left eye gave a single twitch, then not a muscle moved on his face. I knew he was shocked, but I also knew he was drawing on every ounce of his cop’s experience not to react.
    Sam shifted from one sandaled foot to the other, his face flushed under his deep surfer tan. “I’m not going to ask you for money. Bliss and I will work this out.”
    Gabe gazed back at his son for a long minute, then turned and walked out of the room.
    Sam wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “I thought he’d go ballistic when he found out who she was.”
    I shrugged one shoulder, unable to explain his father. “He’s tired, Sam. Things have been busy at the station these last few weeks with school just starting and that homicide over near the train station. He’s under a lot of pressure.”
    “He’s really mad, isn’t he?” Sam’s face became sad. Then, as rapidly as a summer rainstorm, it turned angry. “I don’t care if he is. It’s not his life. Bliss works for him, but he doesn’t own her.”
    I gave his waist a quick hug. “The worst is over, stepson. It’ll take some time, but Gabe will get used to it. Then mark my words, he’ll be the most doting grandpa you’ve ever seen.”
    “Thanks, madrastra, ” he said, using the affectionate Spanish term for stepmother. He ran his fingers through his black, cropped hair. “One parent down, one to go.”
    “You haven’t told your mother yet?”
    Gabe’s ex-wife, Lydia, was a prominent defense attorney who, after a recent divorce, had moved from Newport Beach and taken a position at a Santa Barbara law firm specifically to be closer to Sam. Because of her busy schedule, we still hadn’t met. Sam went down to Santa Barbara to visit her a couple of times a month. The only picture I’d ever seen of her was one of Sam and her when he graduated high school two years ago. If I’d been given twenty-five words or less to describe her I would have said: black hair, black eyes, thin, tall, gorgeous, and Saks-Fifth-Ave—classy. It was easy to see how her and Gabe’s combined genetics produced a parade-stopper like Sam.
    “How do