Audrey shook her head. Not a problem. She could make flexible-timed meals. And she was old enough to eat if she got hungry before he returned.

Twenty minutes later, she heard the garage door rise. His footsteps sounded in the hallway.

She stiffened. Gabe was normally so silent that he could be behind her before she sensed him, and he’d learned to speak to warn her before his touch warmed her skin.

The heavy thud of footsteps was out of character.

Worried, she hurried into the living room. “Gabe?”

He stepped out of the hallway.

His eyes held a cold darkness like a stark winter’s night. A gauze pad was taped on his forehead. Purple bruising showed around it. The lines in his face had deepened, roughening his face. He moved stiffly, without his usual smooth, prowling grace.

That wasn’t the khaki shirt he’d worn this morning.

She ran across the room and skidded to a stop in front of him. “Where are you hurt? How bad is it? You should go to a hospital. I’ll take you. Just let me get my purse. Show me where—”

“Sweetheart.” His eyes lightened. “I caught some damage, but nothing major.” As if to prove it, he drew her into his arms.

Yes, that was what she’d needed, although even as she breathed him in, her hands ran over his torso. The front seemed all right.

There was a big pad on his upper back under the shirt. Oh, God. “Tell me the damage. Now.”

“You saw my face. Got a few bruises. A slice on my back. And I got hit on the head—just a lump—but I do have a headache. Don’t worry. Caz stitched me up and gave me a once-over.”

He’d be all right. He would. She rubbed her cheek against his solid chest.

He chuckled, curved his fingers under her ass, and squeezed lightly. “After a fight like that, I’d’ve liked to screw the Goldilocks who’s sleeping in my bed, but…headache.”

A sputter of amusement hit her at his disgruntled tone. Yes, he was all right. “You sit down, and I’ll get some aspirin. No, I’ll get Tylenol. That’ll be safer if you’re bleeding.”

Smiling, he lifted her chin and bent to kiss her. “You are a miracle, sweetheart. Thank you.”

She got him on the sectional and medicated, then lost the argument about no beer after injuries.

As she passed him the bottle, she felt a cold chill in her bones. Even though he wasn’t badly hurt, he was awfully banged-up. Too banged-up.