by Lori Wilde
Finally, he let out a low groan and pulled his mouth from hers. “We have to stop.”
Why? Why? Why did they have to stop? It felt so good.
Too good. He was right. If they didn’t stop, they’d hop headlong into something they weren’t ready for, especially with Danny being away for the night. It would be so easy to take him home, bring him into her bed. Too easy.
Just like old times.
Except it was not just like old times.
The yearning to turn back time was so strong. To start fresh, start anew, but no amount of yearning could change things.
He wasn’t the man he used to be. She wasn’t that girl—love struck and dependent.
The moment was already gone, the sweet haze of desire dissipating in the cool breeze. She had to be rational. She had to be an adult. She had a child to think about.
Their child.
Danny belonged to him too. Was it so wrong of her to dream of being a family? Of a grand reunion. Was that so impossible?
The haunted expression in Gideon’s eyes said it was. He was already breaking away from her, stepping back, and distancing himself.
Was he so damaged that there was no fixing him?
“You don’t know,” he said.
“I don’t know what?” she asked, moving toward him.
He raised his palm, blocking her, shutting her out. “I’m not fit for you, for this.”
“What are you talking about?”
He shook his head. “You don’t know.”
“Then tell me.” She reached out, but he turned away.
“I . . . I have to go.”
Then he walked away with a hurried, stiff-legged stride, leaving Caitlyn wondering just what it was that she’d done so wrong.
Chapter Eleven
Traditional meaning of tulip—symbol of the perfect lover.
For the first time in a long time, Gideon felt the need for a drink.
After running away—yes, like a coward, he’d run away when things had gotten too hot to handle—from Caitlyn in Sweetheart Park, he stalked into the Horny Toad Tavern desperate for something to take his mind off what he’d just done.
Impulsively, he’d kissed her. Before she was ready for it. Hell, before he was ready for it. He’d thought he’d conquered his rashness, that the army had drilled that character flaw out of him. He hated this, his inability to control his impetuous impulses.
If he moved too fast, he could royally screw up this thing with Caitlyn, because he didn’t do anything in small measures. Throughout his life, it had been all or nothing. Moderation hadn’t been part of his mindset.
Uncontrolled impulse had gotten him into trouble time and time again. It led him to burning down J. Foster’s barn, to joining the army, to losing his hand.
He stared down at the prosthesis, opened the hand, closed it, felt nothing. The i-LIMB was a vast improvement over his previous prosthesis. This hand built on myoelectric principles could move each digit individually. The fingers stayed locked into position until he triggered movement through an open signal by flexing the muscles just above where his arm had been amputated. Now, he was able to pick up a Styrofoam cup without crushing it and he was grateful for that improvement. Advancing technology offered the hope of even more progress on the horizon. One day, he would be able to trigger movement just by thinking about it.
Enough time had elapsed since the bombing that he’d dealt with the major psychological issues, but this was the first time he’d left the Middle East since it had happened. Coming home, being in a different environment, it was like getting accustomed to the loss all over again.
“What’ll you have?” asked the bartender.
“Shot of whiskey,” he said.
When he first joined the army, when Caitlyn had first sent his letters back—correction, when her old man had sent the letters back—he’d taken refuge in the bottle. Drinking to excess in a mad attempt to block out the emotional pain. But then he’d realized that wasn’t the path he wanted to continue down. If he couldn’t have Caitlyn, he’d throw himself into his work, heart and soul, and he couldn’t do that if his mind was on drinking. So he’d stopped.
After losing his hand, he’d gone through another bout of self-pity–induced drinking, but with therapy, he’d come to grips with what happened. Gideon stared into the glass of amber liquid. Did he really want to start down that road again?
“That’ll be five dollars,” the bartender said.
“I’m buying.”
Gideon looked up to see Sheriff Hondo Crouch standing beside him. When he’d lived here before, Hondo had been a paramedic working for the ambulance service.
Hondo slapped a ten-dollar bill down on the counter. “Club soda for me, Jim.”
Gideon pushed the sawbuck toward Hondo. “Keep your money, Sheriff.”
“Ah,” Hondo said. “You’re in the moody, broody phase. I thought that might be the case when I heard you’d met Danny.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Gideon tossed the whiskey down his throat. It burned nice and smooth. A welcome friend.
“My lady friend Patsy Cross is in the garden club with your lady friend.”
He started to protest that Caitlyn wasn’t his “lady” friend, but he let it go.
Hondo nodded at the barstool beside him. “Do you mind?”
Gideon shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Hondo settled on the barstool.
“Another.” Gideon caught the bartender’s eye, pointed at his whiskey glass.
“You sure you want to do that?” Hondo asked. “Alcohol is never the answer. I know. I’ve tried to find the answers in there too many times.”
“Yeah? So what’s the question?”
“You want to know why you didn’t die.” Hondo flicked his gaze at Gideon’s prosthesis. “You want to know how the hell you’re expected to fit into polite society now that you’ve been to the darkest place a man can go.”
Gideon couldn’t argue.
“I was in ’Nam.” Hondo took a drink of his club soda, stared at the colorful array of liquor bottles on the shelf behind the bar. “POW.”
“Shit.” That raised the hair on Gideon’s arm. He couldn’t imagine being a POW.
“I came back home battered, bruised, wanting to die, and wasted out of my mind.”
“On what?”
“Heroin.”
“That shit is serious.”
“Tell me about it. I lost everything and I do mean everything, except . . .” He nodded at Gideon’s hand again. “A body part.”
“How’d you kick the junk?”
“It took me three stints in rehab and lots of group therapy to finally shuck that monkey off my back.”
“And yet here you are, sheriff of Twilight.”
“I’ve been clean for over twenty years and this town believes in giving people second chances.”
“Is that directed at me?”
“Should it be?”
Gideon downed the second shot of whiskey. He was feeling more in control now. Less panicked. So he’d kissed Caitlyn. It didn’t have to mean anything. Yes, he’d been impulsive, but it wasn’t something he couldn’t correct. All he had to do was not kiss her again.
Yeah. Like that was easy.
“It’s got to be a kick in the gut, coming home, realizing you have a son you’ve never met who’ll soon be eight years old.”
“I thought everyone believed Kevin Marsh was Danny’s father.”
“Hell, a blind man could tell that redheaded Irishman wasn’t Danny’s biological father. The kid looks exactly like you. Everyone just pretended for Danny’s sake.”
“Caitlyn thinks she’s got everyone fooled.”
“The real question you should be asking yourself is how do you become a father to that boy? Most dads get on-the-job training. They’re there in the beginning. They’re thrown right in, sink or swim. You don’t have that advantage on your side.”
It was true. He did not. Gideon cocked his
head. “How do you know so much about it?”
“Because I’ve been where you are.”
“You had a kid you knew nothing about?”
“That’s right. But I didn’t find out about Jesse until he was twenty-eight years old. You’ve got a twenty-year head start on me, Gideon. Count your blessings.”
“Yeah, right because I have so many of those.”
“You are extremely blessed. The woman you’ve always loved is a widow. You could have come back and found her still married to Kevin. You’ve been given a second chance to woo her. A chance to heal those old wounds. Don’t blow it.”
“Who says I’m blowing it?”
“That empty shot glass in front of you.”
“So you just thought, what? You’d come over here and give me the benefit of your vast wisdom?”
“I’d just hate to see you make the same mistakes I made. How are the nightmares?”
Stunned, Gideon stared at him. “How do you know about the nightmares?”
“All vets have them to one degree or another, and you with the hand, I figure yours have got to be pretty bad.”
“Do they ever go away?”
“Over time. For the most part. Now and then one still creeps in. But don’t let the night terrors run your waking life.”
Gideon felt at once appreciative and resentful. It was nice of Hondo to come over here and give him a pep talk, but he hated being told what to do. Another one of his negative personality traits. Extreme stubbornness.
“Okay, since you seem to know it all,” he said, “just how do you propose I put my life back together?”
Hondo moved the shot glass away. “First lay off that stuff.”
“Then?”
“Take your time and prove to your woman that you’re worthy of her. Don’t rush her. Let things evolve organically. Show her that you’re going to stick around. That she can rely on you. But don’t be possessive. Give her space.”
“In other words be a wimp.” Gideon motioned the bartender to refill his drink. He liked the way the alcohol took the edge off, made everything soft focus and rosy.
Hondo laughed. “Nothing is further from the truth. A strong man knows how to let his woman be strong in her own right. You don’t have to protect her or take care of her.”
“Then what the hell is my function?”
“Just be there for her and your boy too. Take it one day at a time.”
“Wow, that’s some profound advice. Where’d you read it? In a fortune cookie?”
Hondo put his hand over the shot glass, blocking the bartender from tippling in another shot. “In AA.”
He met Hondo’s stare, felt himself grow simultaneously hot and cold. The bartender stepped back. Hondo stayed leaning across the counter, his hand over the shot glass.
Gideon had a choice to make. Accept things the way they were and try to do something about it, or drink himself into oblivion.
“You want me to get you another glass?” the bartender asked when it became clear that Hondo was not going to move his hand.
Gideon shook his head. “No, I’m done.”
Hondo clapped Gideon on the shoulder. “Wise choice, son, wise choice. Now, first thing tomorrow morning, you go see your lady friend and you tell her what she needs to hear.”
Even though at that moment he resented the hell out of Hondo for his interference, Gideon knew in his heart the sheriff was absolutely right. Caitlyn had always been a cautious woman, and now that she was a mother, she was even more so. Only time could win her heart.
If he wanted to rebuild his life, he had to prove to her and his son that he would be there for them, no matter what.
Caitlyn woke, as she always did, just before dawn and immediately thought about what she’d fix Danny for breakfast, but then remembered that he’d spent the night at his friend Charlie’s house. She could go back to sleep if she wanted. No one was about. Nothing to roust her.
It wasn’t often that Danny had a sleepover and she was unaccustomed to the quiet. Besides, she couldn’t stop thinking about Gideon and what had passed between them last night.
Had he actually kissed her? Or had she dreamed it? She reached up to finger her puffy lips. Not a dream. He had kissed her. Kissed her hard, and she’d felt it clean to her soul.
What did it mean? Just as quickly as he’d kissed her, he’d pulled back, mumbled something cryptic, and practically run away.
She got out of bed, stretching. Arms over her head, spine curled, her ears cocked for sounds of Danny awakening. He’s not here. He’s at Emma and Sam’s spending the night with Charlie.
“Enjoy having the morning all to yourself,” she said, and resolved to do so. She put a pot of steel-cut oatmeal on to cook, and in the misty gray predawn went out to feed the chickens.
“Good morning, ladies,” she called to her nine Buff Orpingtons and sprinkled out the grain. To the Faverolles, she spoke French. “Bonjour, Collette, comment allez-vous aujourd’hui?”
Collette with her beautiful collar of cream and brown feathers came over to peck affectionately at the toe of Caitlyn’s rubber boot. Caitlyn filled up their water trough and let them out into their run. Then she picked up the basket she kept draped over a nail and went to the nesting boxes to gather eggs.
She used to allow the hens to free range the acre lot, but a pair of Cooper’s hawks had taken up residence in the wooded lot across the road and she’d lost three Buffies to the raptors before she could build the enclosed run.
“I’m so sorry about the loss of your freedom, my darlings,” she apologized.
They clucked and scratched and didn’t seem the least bit concerned. Smiling, Caitlyn took the ten perfect brown eggs and headed back to the house. Her oatmeal was ready. She made a cup of hibiscus tea, put honey in both it and the oatmeal, and sat at the kitchen table to watch the sun finish pushing up over the horizon.
She closed her eyes, breathing deeply of the morning air, and said a prayer of thanks.
After she’d eaten, she realized she could squeeze in an hour working at the victory garden before picking Danny up at Sam and Emma’s, hurrying home for a quick shower, and then heading out again to Sunday school and church. She dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved white cotton blouse, sneakers, and a blue sweater so old the elbows had gone threadbare. It was her favorite sweater. Too faded now for public use, but perfect for gardening. Perching a straw hat on her head, she rubbed a dollop of sunscreen on her face and the backs of her hands and walked to the victory garden.
This early on a Sunday morning the streets lay quiet. A couple of neighborhood dogs barked as she strolled past, but she didn’t see anyone else out and about. Most of the coffee shops wouldn’t open until six and it was a few minutes shy of that, but she could smell doughnuts in the air. Christine Noble was busy behind the counter of the Twilight Bakery.
Maybe she’d pick up a box of doughnuts on the way home as a special treat for Danny. She didn’t let him have junk food very often, but she’d been feeling a bit guilty for not spending as much time with him as she normally did.
Yeah, that’s great. Give your kid doughnuts to make up for lack of attention. Okay, she promised herself. She’d take him fishing this afternoon.
Idly, she wondered if Gideon would like to come, but squelched the thought. She couldn’t foist fatherhood on him. She had to let him take things at his own pace. She imagined it must be a huge shock, suddenly learning that you were a father and had missed the first seven and a half years of your child’s life.
The doughnut guilt morphed into another kind of guilt. She shouldn’t feel bone-deep remorse. She hadn’t intentionally kept Danny from his father. She’d thought Gideon was dead. There was no one to blame. No one, that was, except for Judge Blackthorne. Sooner or later, she was going to have to have it out with her father over that. His actions were unconscionable.
Her shoulder muscles tensed and she forced herself to take a deep calming breath. She was so busy trying to relax and get her mind
off Gideon that she didn’t see him until she was already at the garden. He was crouching in front of the base of the carousel, painstakingly securing the wooden platform with carriage bolts. He’d made amazing progress on repairing the carousel’s mechanized parts over the past week.
Caitlyn paused, but Gideon glanced up and spied her before she had a chance to retreat. Her pulse revved. Why did she have a strong urge to turn and run away?
His eyes were red-rimmed, his hair disheveled, his T-shirt wrinkled as if he’d slept in it, his jaw unshaven. He looked gruff and rough and abrupt, and the minute she laid eyes on him her heart fluttered ridiculously.
She smiled, raised her hand. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“You’re up early.”
“Same could be said of you.”
“How’d you sleep?” she asked.
“Fair enough.”
Liar. It looks like you haven’t slept a wink.
“How about you?” He met her gaze. “How did you sleep?”
Well, other than those erotic dreams I had about you all night long, not good at all. If he could lie, she could too. “Great!”
Okay, that sounded too chipper.
He didn’t say anything else and she walked over to the storage shed. She opened it up, took out gardening gloves, trowels, shovels, kneepads, and several sacks of seeds. She needed to get the seeds in ground ASAP. It was already the second week in March and she was running behind in her planting schedule.
She got straight to work. Last week had been about prepping the soil. This week was about sowing the seeds. She took the hoe and made little furrows in the freshly tilled soil.
Behind her, she could hear Gideon’s hammer banging in the carriage bolts. It came off strangely loud in the quiet morning, punctuated by mockingbird trills. She felt her back heat and without even turning her head, she could tell Gideon was staring at her. Warmth built in the center of her stomach.
He’s not looking at you and even if he is, so what? It doesn’t mean anything.
But what did it mean when all she wanted to do was turn and ogle him? How strange it was, this distance between them. Once upon a time they’d been as close as two people could be.