by Lori Wilde
“Don’t push me, fuckwad.” Gideon slammed him up against the side of the house, put his elbow to his throat, shoved his face into Bowie’s. “Don’t let the hand fool you. I was a Green Beret.”
“Look,” Bowie said. “I didn’t come here to start any trouble.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“Yeah? So what?”
“You walk into our home without being invited. You terrify my . . . Caitlyn.”
“I didn’t terrify her. I just helped myself to pizza and beer. Rude maybe, but terrifying? I don’t think so. I am your brother after all. LaVon got the DNA results back. It’s official. We’re kin.”
“Is that what you came here to tell me?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
Bowie held up both hands. “Honest to God, I just want to talk.”
“So talk.”
“I want to buy the Rocking J from you.”
“It’s not mine yet. You’re contesting the will, tying it up in probate. You’re free to live there until the will is duly probated.”
“It’s not enough. That ranch means everything to me and I can’t—won’t lose it.”
“There you go with the threats again. That’s not the way to get what you want.”
“Then what is? You tell me? What’s your currency, Garza?”
“My family. You threaten them again and next time I won’t be so understanding.”
“Your family? Caitlyn’s not your wife, Danny’s not your—” Realization dawned in Bowie’s eyes. “Hot damn, Danny is your son. Why didn’t I see that before? Of course. He looks nothing like Kevin. He looks like a Goodnight.”
Apprehension settled on Gideon’s shoulders. He’d just made a huge mistake by giving away Danny’s identity.
“Pretty ironic when you think about it. You’re J. Foster’s bastard child, Danny is yours.”
Venomous anger shot through Gideon. He felt it boil through his veins, furious and fierce. In that moment, he was total warrior, all civility forgotten. Let out of its cage, the monster reared up in him, blind and unreasonable. He grabbed Bowie by the arm, twisted it around his back and pulled it up high and tight.
Bowie yelped.
Gideon yanked him toward the Hummer parked so arrogantly in Caitlyn’s driveway.
Bowie stumbled, screamed as Gideon kept yanking his arm, unrelenting and unrepentant. He swung open the door of the haughty vehicle and shoved Bowie inside. “Get out of here right now and don’t let me ever catch you on Caitlyn’s property again. Or you’ll be crying out to God to save you from me.”
Bowie started the engine, put the Hummer in gear, and backed it from the driveway with a screech of tires. Breathing hard, Gideon turned to see Caitlyn standing in the doorway. She’d seen everything he’d done. Witnessed just a tiny part of what he was capable of.
Dread took hold of him then. Dread and doubt and insecurity. Would she turn away from him? Tell him to leave? Say that he was too violent to be around her son?
He waited, unmoving, unable to read her thoughts on her face.
Then she stepped across the space between them, slipped her arm around his waist. “C’mon in,” she murmured. “And I’ll heat up the pizza.”
Gideon made her feel safe in a way that Kevin never had. Easygoing Kevin would have probably sat down and had a beer with Bowie, clueless as to why Caitlyn had felt threatened.
But Gideon was different. One look into her face and he’d known. He hadn’t hesitated. He’d dragged Bowie into the yard and made it perfectly clear that kind of behavior was not welcome in this house.
Caitlyn sneaked a glance over at Gideon. They were all three sitting on the couch, Gideon on one side, Caitlyn on the other, and Danny in between. Danny was laughing at some cartoon antics on the television screen, but Caitlyn wasn’t paying any attention to the movie. She had a feeling Gideon wasn’t either.
The electrical energy between them was almost palpable. Gideon had his right arm stretched out across the back of the couch. Intentionally, Caitlyn stretched her left arm out beside his.
A minute passed. They sat there, arms touching, their son between them.
Caitlyn became aware of a tickling sensation at her wrist. She didn’t look over as Gideon lightly traced his fingers along the line of her scar. The sutures hadn’t come out yet, and the area was still sensitive. Yet his touch was so gentle, the contact felt good, soothing. He could be so forceful—as he’d been with Bowie—while at the same time he could be so incredibly tender with her and Danny.
But today, something had changed.
In him.
In her.
In them both.
The next morning, Danny went to his grandfather’s house for a two-night stay. It was hard for Caitlyn to let him go, but she did it. Not only for her son’s sake, but also for her own. By doing so, she took the first step toward healing the rift that had begun so long ago.
Danny smiled and waved good-bye as he drove off with the judge in his Cadillac. Caitlyn’s heart wrenched.
Gideon put his arm around her waist, leaned in close, and whispered, “You’re such a good mother. I’m so proud of you.”
“Yeah well, I need something to keep me from thinking about it. Let’s go work on the victory garden.”
They spent the day at the garden, Caitlyn tending plants with the volunteers, watering, weeding, fertilizing, while Gideon worked on the carousel with his own set of young volunteers from the high school. They worked until well after dark and came home exhausted.
Caitlyn headed for a long hot soak in her tub. Gideon commandeered Danny’s bathroom for a shower. She shut and locked the bathroom door behind her. Sitting on the side of the tub, she adjusted the faucets to the right temperature and let the water flow. When the tub was filled, she stripped off her gardening clothes and sank down into the warm, inviting water. She picked up the bar of lavender soap, held it to her nose, inhaled the relaxing scent, and laid her head back against the cool porcelain. Closing her eyes, she luxuriated in the moment. Through the walls she heard the shower coming on in the other bathroom.
She imagined Gideon standing naked underneath the spray. Her heart slammed against her rib cage at the thought of his hard-muscled body. Her nipples hardened and her breasts swelled. Heat pooled deep inside her.
Just thinking about him made Caitlyn feel achy and wet and hot.
In her daydream he looked at her with the ravenous eyes, his manhood thick and swollen with desire for her.
You’re making yourself crazy. Stop it.
But she didn’t want to stop it. She wanted to climb out of the tub, rush into the other bathroom, and slip into the shower with him. Shaking with need, she got out and dried herself off. Did she dare act on impulse?
Before she could make up her mind, she heard the shower cut off and the bathroom door close. She stood listening to her heart beating loud and fast in her ears. She couldn’t make herself move, even though she wanted to make love to Gideon more than anything in the world.
She put her hand on the doorknob, but didn’t turn it. What if she couldn’t measure up to his memory of her? What if he was disappointed in her stretch marks and breasts that had nursed a baby? What if she wasn’t sophisticated enough for him?
Fear held her in a tight grip. In the end, she stepped away from the door, moved back, put on her nightgown, and slipped into bed.
And lay in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she was ever going to have the courage to ask for what she needed. Finally, she fell into a fitful sleep.
At ten after three in the morning, she was yanked awake by a tortured scream.
Gideon!
She leaped from her bed, raced from her room and into the hall. His cries were ear-splitting now, as if he were being tortured. She burst into the guest bedroom.
Moonlight shone through the open curtains, illuminating the strange sight in front of her. Gideon was on his knees in the middle of the bed, t
otally naked, pummeling his pillow with his fist, howling and gnashing his teeth like a wounded animal.
“Gideon!” she cried. “What’s wrong, what’s wrong?”
He swiveled his head and stared at her with eyes so empty a dark shiver of despair lanced her heart.
That’s when she realized he was still asleep and apparently in the throes of a vicious night terror. Just what had he seen in Iraq and Afghanistan? What horrors ate at his soul?
“Gideon?” she whispered.
“Who’s there?” He frowned, shifted around so he was now sitting in the middle of the bed.
“It’s me, Caitlyn. Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”
“Caitlyn?” His face softened.
She crept forward and tentatively stretched out a hand to touch his shoulder.
He flinched, drew back.
“Gideon, you’re home, you’re safe, you’re back in Twilight.”
“Caitlyn?”
“Yes. I’m here.” She eased down on the bed beside him.
“Caitlyn.” His eyes glistened in the moonlight and he looked at her with such utter desire, it took her breath. “Caitlyn.”
“Are you awake now?”
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shook his head.
“Your nightmare seemed so awful. Have you ever talked to anyone about it?”
Again, he shook his head. “Can’t.”
“Please, please let me in. All I want to do is help.”
“All I want to do is kiss you.”
She didn’t have to look down to see his erection, it was growing between them, but he was using sex to derail her from questioning. She knew he didn’t like to talk about his feelings. And she imagined it must be extremely hard to relive what he’d suffered. “The nightmares aren’t going to go away unless you talk about them.”
“Women.”
“What?”
“Women always want to make you talk about your feelings. What good does that do?”
“You won’t know until you try it, will you?”
He sighed.
“Do you have post-traumatic stress syndrome?”
“Why do people have to label it? What’s the point of labeling it? Labeling doesn’t define it.”
“You’re talking. This is good. Keep up the talking.”
“How can I tell you about it? I can’t bring that darkness into your world.”
“It’s in your world and you’re already in my world,” she pointed out. “If you tell me, at least I can understand why you scream and beat your pillow in the middle of the night.”
His erection had disappeared. He wasn’t trying to use sex to deflect talk anymore. This was good. This was progress.
“I’m not who you think I am. I’m different. I’ve changed.”
“Change doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”
“It is for me.”
She heard the rasp in his voice and saw the vulnerability in his eyes that he tried to cover up with that tough warrior thing. “I can still see you in there,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek with her palm. “The boy I used to know hidden beneath all the sorrow and loss and pain.”
He winced, pulled away from her touch.
Ouch. She tried not to let it show that his rejection hurt. She understood. Okay, not really, but she wanted to understand. “Gideon? What is it? Tell me what you’re feeling.”
He’d always had trouble expressing his feelings, but she could see him trying. He was trying for her. “I was hoping—”
“What?” she asked after a few seconds passed and he didn’t continue. “What were you hoping for?”
He shook his head. “I guess I hoped we could somehow turn back the clock, but I see now that was a foolish thought.”
“No, no, not foolish.” She laid her hand over his. “Not foolish at all.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t look at her. But he left his hand there, underneath hers.
“Just say it, Gideon. What’s the worst that could happen?”
He met her gaze and his eyes were tortured. “That you’d kick me out. Tell me you couldn’t bear to look me in the face because of what I’d done.”
A cold chill passed through her. What had he done? “Nothing you could do would ever make me turn away from you,” she said bravely, and reached out to lay her palm over his heart. “I know who you are deep inside. Tell me, Gideon, who are you fighting in your nightmares?”
“Me,” he said. “I’m trying to kill me.”
His words sucked the air from her lungs. “Trust me,” she whispered. “Trust me with your darkest secret.”
Gideon’s eyes misted and he clenched his jaw. “It’s the bombings and losing my hand and . . .”
“There’s more.” She said it as a statement, not a question.
He turned his head, stared at the wall, and for one hopeless minute she thought he was not going to open up to her, but then finally, he spoke in a voice so soft she could scarcely hear him. “During my first tour of duty, I was sent into a house where they suspect Saddam Hussein had hidden weapons of mass destruction.”
Gideon paused but Caitlyn didn’t fill the silence. She waited. Giving him the time and space he needed.
“There weren’t any weapons there. We’d finished sweeping the house and we were leaving. I was the last one out.”
Caitlyn reached out to run her hand over his upper arm.
Finally, he turned back and looked at her. “He came out of nowhere. He’d been hiding in a secret panel in the ceiling. He just literally dropped on top of me.”
She moistened her lips, unable to imagine what that was like.
“He had a knife. We engaged in hand-to-hand combat.” Gideon held up his left arm. “Obviously, it was before I lost the hand.”
Another long pause stretched out.
“It’s okay,” Caitlyn said. “You don’t have to say anything more.”
Gideon wiped his hand over his mouth. “I killed him.” He pressed his lips together. “It was my life or his. But then once the heat of the battle was over and I looked down, I saw he was just a boy. A kid. Probably no more than fifteen.”
“Oh, Gideon, you didn’t know. You were only a boy too. Nineteen. Scared.”
He laughed a shaky humorless laugh. “It was as if in that moment, I killed myself. Gideon Garza from Twilight, Texas, was dead and a killer was born.”
Caitlyn wrapped her arms around him and rocked him as she would have rocked Danny after a nightmare, and he let her. Obviously needing the comfort of her body.
She kissed him on the forehead, and then moved to his lips and he responded. Kissing her back with a heat born of the desperate need to blunt his emotional pain with the physical passion of sex.
And Caitlyn welcomed him.
In answer, he wrapped his arm around her waist, drew her to him, and kissed her as if both their lives depended on it.
Chapter Seventeen
Traditional meaning of marvel of Peru—flame of passion.
The passion born from confession soon developed into full-blown lust for only each other. Gideon’s kisses left her breathless and hungry for more, more, more.
When she was seventeen, she couldn’t imagine anything more powerful than Gideon Garza’s kisses. He’d hypnotized her, entranced her. Making love to him had been the most exquisite sensation she’d ever experienced. It had been more than just physical, although he certainly knew how to make her body hum. But what catapulted their lovemaking to the dizzying heights was the love they’d shared. It had been raw, primal, undeniable, unique.
Later, with Kevin, she’d been struck by how truly wonderful things had been with Gideon. She’d known it was great at the time, but it was not until she was with Kevin that she discovered precisely how special her bond with Gideon was. Her husband had been a man of mild passions. He’d lived simply, loved simply, nothing grand or earth-shattering. She’d been placated by the ease of
it, knowing she could never again have what she’d had with Gideon.
And now here he was, back from the dead and loving her the way she’d never been loved. Not even when they were teenagers.
He’d learned a few things over the years he’d been away. His skill amazed her. He was a better lover than men with two arms. He took his time, not rushing. That was different. Back then, he’d taken her in a heated rush, and while she’d enjoyed the excitement of that headlong dash, this slow tempo suited who she was today. A woman, not a girl.
Gideon trailed his fingertips over her skin, feather light and warm. Little pools of heat burned everywhere he lingered.
A hushed sound of pleasure slipped from her lips and she lowered her eyelids, embracing the moment.
“You like that?” His voice was husky.
“Mmm.” She purred.
He kept it up, the gentle stroking. His hand became a paintbrush, swishing back and forth, back and forth, combing her nerve endings with layer upon layer of sensation.
She luxuriated in his caress. It felt so perfect. Too perfect, perhaps. She never wanted it to stop. Never wanted to get out of bed. She wished she could freeze time or put it in a bottle. Hold it still so she could savor this moment endlessly, forever. They’d missed so much. She didn’t want it to slip by so fast. Now she understood why he’d made her wait, why he hadn’t wanted to hurry. Nothing wrong with a quickie, by and large, but their first time together after their eight years’ separation should indeed be special.
He lowered his head and ran his tongue over her forehead, licking where he’d just caressed, dampening her skin gone red-hot from the rubbing. The man’s tongue should be labeled a lethal weapon. It was undoing her in a hundred different ways. Her heart rate sped up. Her toes curled. Sweat pearled between her breasts. Her breathing was so shallow she couldn’t understand how her lungs continued to function.
He took the hem of her nightgown in his hand and slowly pulled it over her head, then dropped it to the floor. She was naked underneath.
One by one, he dropped kisses up her arm to her shoulder, then from her shoulder to the hollow of her neck. His lips pressed against the pulse fluttering there like an exhausted runner after a marathon. And they were just getting started!