Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  “You like baseball?” Gideon asked.

  “Well, no. But the history of it was fascinating,” Henry said. She turned to Alanna. “I know how you feel. A good documentary is a great way to spend the weekend.”

  “Sure. Right.” Alanna slid a glance her way, as if she were expecting Henry to invite her over for a PBS special and sleep-over at any moment.

  “You should join the Cane River Preservation Society,” Ruby said. “Bix and I spend a lot of our evenings sorting through donations and organizing things for the archive exhibits. Gideon’s real kind to let us be part of his volunteer crew.”

  “Kindness has nothing to do with it,” Gideon said, fixing Ruby with a look. “I can trust you two with irreplaceable treasures. You know the value of a hundred year old letter that mentions a freed slave business. You understand that there might be just one photo of a family per generation.”

  “That sounds like so much fun,” Alanna said, her voice high and breathy. She turned to Gideon. “You should bring me to one of your society meetings. How often do y’all get together? Every week?”

  “We meet once a month,” Gideon said, his eyes still fixed on Henry. His smile had faded, as if he somehow knew that her stomach was in knots.

  Alanna seemed to sense she was losing his interest and redoubled her efforts. “I don’t spend all my time watching documentaries, of course. I do go out every now and then. In fact, I was invited to a party just last night that was packed with celebrities. It’s amazing how down-to-earth these people are. They’re just like us, really.”

  Henry felt a sense of foreboding. Please, don’t.

  “Kimberly Gray was there.” She said this triumphantly, as if being in the same room with her was an award. “We’re very good friends. You know she’s from Natchitoches? I’ve even spent the holidays with her family here.”

  “You mean, her parents and sister and… niece?” Patsy asked.

  A flicker of uncertainty crossed Alanna’s face. She rubbed her nose. “Right. All of them. Wonderful people.”

  Henry closed her eyes for a moment. This was one of her worst nightmares, trapped in a conversation like a poker game, everyone holding their cards close to their chests, wanting to know what they others were hiding, looking to her for clues. As much as she hated a liar, she also felt a kinship with them. They were the same, way down deep where insecurities whispered terrible things and doubts cast long shadows.

  Gideon stood and stepped away from his chair. “Henry, would you like to dance?”

  There was a long moment where Henry just stared up at him as if he’d started speaking German again. They’d talked about dancing, hadn’t they? Neither of them really enjoyed it. But to refuse would be twice as embarrassing as actually dancing.

  “Of course,” she said brightly.

  She avoided Patsy’s gaze as they took their leave. Side by side, they walked toward the dance floor packed with couples. Zydeco dancing was something of a cross between jitterbugging and swing and the waltz. It looked simple, but demanded a certain level of finesse, especially if you were trying to look somewhat suave and graceful. They stood together on the end of the dance floor and Henry couldn’t decide whether she’d rather go back and listen to more lies, or get on the dance floor and look ridiculous in front of Gideon.

  “I can’t really―.” She started at the same time as he did.

  “I’m not very―”

  “― dance at all.”

  “― good at this,” he said.

  “Well, that’s out of the way.” He looked down at her, a smile creasing his face. “You look beautiful,” he said.

  Her stomach dropped into her shoes. “Thank you.”

  “Was that the wrong thing to say? I meant well.”

  There was a moment where she considered changing the subject but then said, “I know you did. It’s just that I hear how pretty I am when I take my glasses off. It’s even worse when I take my hair down. It’s not really me that people are seeing, but her. To everyone, I look just like my aunt.”

  “To me, you look like yourself,” he said.

  She couldn’t fight the warmth that spread through her and turned to watch the dancers. Blue must be watching them from the table, wondering why they were simply standing there talking. “Should we jump in?”

  “I think this song is almost over. Do you know it?”

  She shook her head. “It’s familiar. “

  “This guy played with Clifton Chenier and the Louisiana Ramblers a long time ago. I remember watching him… before.”

  She knew he meant before he’d gone to prison. He’d been so young. She couldn’t imagine a fifteen year old Gideon.

  “You never ask me about it,” he said, as if sensing her thoughts. “About the man I killed and the time I spent in prison.”

  “Do you want me to?”

  They were facing each other now. Even though the music was loud and they had to raise their voices to be heard, it seemed as if they were alone. “It’s usually the first thing people want to discuss.”

  “I’ve spent my whole life knowing more than I wanted about everyone. I’ve learned not to ask questions unless I really want to know the answers.”

  At that moment the song wound down and the dancers paused in their places. “This is our chance,” he said, and took her hand.

  Henry stepped with him onto the dance floor. The leader of the band held a hand up to his ear, inviting song requests and although Henry tried to think of something, all she could feel was Gideon’s hand in hers.

  “Beaux Bridge Waltz,” Gideon called out.

  The band leader let out a whoop and repeated Gideon’s request into the microphone. The crowd murmured, laughter rising on the night air. Couples shifted, some changing partners, some staying put. Henry glanced up at Gideon and hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

  She’d thought some swing would be nerve-wracking. A waltz was a whole different beast.

  Chapter Twelve

  “If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot

  tell it about other people.”

  ― Virginia Woolf

  Gideon turned to face her, and she stepped into the circle of his arm. She felt his other hand settle against her lower back and she was eye level with his collar bone. They stood so still she could see the pulse in his throat and she turned her head, not knowing where to look. Couples were arranging themselves around them. Henry wondered how they could be so at ease, as if they weren’t inches away from each other.

  He smelled like soap and something wonderful. She’d never been close enough to him to really get a good sniff. An image popped into her head of sticking her face into his shirt and a sharp laugh escaped.

  “Something funny?” He glanced down at her.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”

  “Don’t be. It’s only me.” He squeezed her hand.

  The band started with the sweet, slow movements and they moved together, keeping on the fringes of the crowd and out of the way.

  “You didn’t have to rescue me from the conversation,” she said.

  He was looking somewhere over her head but he knew what she meant. “You looked miserable.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to be rude.”

  He looked into her eyes and there was a frown between his brows. “You keep apologizing.”

  “I wasn’t judging her.”

  “I was,” he said. “How hard is it to tell the truth to a bunch of strangers? Nobody cares if you like history.”

  “I thought you knew her.”

  He swung her around another couple and they moved toward the center of the group. “I’ve met her before.”

  “She only wanted to impress you.” Henry understood perfectly. “The day I met you, I’d rehearsed and rehearsed what I wanted to say.”

  “But then you found out I was an ex-con and decided it wasn’t worth the effort.” His words were teasing but there was a note of something else in his vo
ice.

  She let go of her speech when she realized he was going to speak to her without pretense. She’d answered his honesty with her own. “The lying, it’s really not that unusual. People usually lie to impress someone. You should take it as a compliment.”

  “Like you do when someone lies to you on a date?” His eyes were fixed on someone out in the crowd but his words were just for her.

  Every lie stung. It was even more painful when all you wanted was transparency. But Alanna was probably steaming. She’d thought she was making headway with Gideon until he’d stood up and walked away with another woman. She looked for something nice to say. There was nothing worse than a woman who tore down another woman once they were out of ear shot.

  “Alanna’s very pretty. And nice.”

  “She is,” he said. He was quiet for a moment and they turned toward the end of the dance floor. “But I’m not interested.”

  She wanted to ask why, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. For a few seconds, she thought he wasn’t going to explain.

  “It’s not the lying,” he said. “It’s more than that. There are a lot of pitfalls when you’re a convicted felon. Some are obvious. Some are a little harder to spot. Social interactions are a veritable minefield of pending disasters.”

  “How so?” Henry was glad when he led them back away from the speakers. She wanted to hear him, not just his words but the meaning underneath.

  “Alanna is a lovely woman, but she’s a professional therapist. She’s a fireman looking for a fire. She saves people for a living.”

  “And you don’t need anyone to save you.” There was a question there and it occurred to her that she was breaking her own cardinal rule. Never ask a question if you don’t want to know the answer.

  “Do you?” He threw her a look.

  Henry laughed out loud. “Ouch.”

  “I’m not trying to offend you.”

  “I’m not offended. I can see your point. I wouldn’t feel flattered if someone was attracted to me just because they thought I needed therapy.”

  “And it’s more than that. Let’s say Alanna and I decided to…” His voice trailed off and Henry smiled a little.

  “Date?” she offered.

  “Right.” He guided her around a corner filled with couples. The singer was ending another verse and Henry felt a stab of urgency. She wanted to hear what Gideon had to say, wanted to know why he didn’t think beautiful, smart, cheerful Alanna was a good match for him. Part of her knew it was none of her business, but the other part was desperate to hear his reasoning. The singer launched into the first verse again.

  “So, say we decided to date. Alanna would do what she’s best at, which is fixing broken people.”

  Henry wanted to protest that Gideon wasn’t broken but the man had never lied to her. She watched his face and kept silent.

  “There are two outcomes. One, she succeeds.” He shifted and she moved her hand to his collar from his shoulder. “After months, or even years, she succeeds. I am now a new and improved, mentally and emotionally more acceptable version of myself.”

  He gave a wry little smile. “Now, I’m suddenly not as interesting as I once was. The challenge is gone. Alanna loses interest, while probably not even understanding why she finds her attention drawn elsewhere.”

  Drawn elsewhere. The old-fashioned phrase belied the heartbreak he was imagining. Henry closed her eyes briefly. The waltz was beautiful but jarring as background to Gideon’s words. The upbeat tempo sounded like a circus tune. “What if she failed?”

  “Then she would feel terrible for not being able to save me. I would feel terrible for not being salvageable. And it would tear us apart anyway.”

  “So what’s the answer?”

  “Aside from not dating a therapist? I don’t know.”

  Henry swallowed hard. She’d wanted to hear why a romance with Alanna would never work out but now she wondered if Gideon was trying to explain how he couldn’t be with anyone. “You seem well-adjusted for someone who spent so many years in prison.” The next moment she shook her head. “That was a stupid thing to say. Of course it’s not just the prison term.”

  To her relief, he nodded as he swung them into another turn. “Tom and I agree on a lot of things, but he likes to talk psychology. I guess we both agree I committed a mortal sin that wounded my soul, but he also says it was a violent crime that scarred my psyche. When I repented, I was forgiven of the first thing, but maybe the psychological scars from the crime are something else.” There wasn’t any self-pity or self-loathing in his voice. He was merely repeating what Father Tom had told him.

  The couples moved around them, smiling and talking, a discordant visual to their conversation. Henry looked into Gideon’s face and wondered if anyone had ever been as honest with her. In a world where no one wanted to admit they were broken, Gideon stated it as fact. She was broken, too, and she was tired of hiding it. The difference between them was that she wasn’t brave enough to say anything.

  He shook his head. “Listen to me. Isn’t there a rule about talking too much during the dance?”

  She laughed a little but it sounded false to her own ears. “My granddaddy says if you think too much you’ll miss all the steps. And we know the steps are where the fun is at.”

  “And my mama used to say the longest path between two points is through the dance hall. At least, I think that’s the way it went.” He grinned down at her and she felt a little blinded by his smile, and spoke before thinking.

  “Your adoptive mother?”

  His smile faded. “No. My biological mother. She passed away when I was little.”

  “Oh, no,” Henry said.

  “With my father and my little sister.”

  She felt a chill go down her spine. “All together? Was it an accident?”

  “No. They were murdered.” He guided her to the edge of the floor and stopped, dropping his arm from her waist.

  Scarred. “I’m sorry,” she managed. Henry looked around, finally realizing the song had ended.

  Something in his expression made her mouth go dry. Anger, frustration, disbelief. He laughed and it was a very unfunny sound. “Tom and Denny are probably back,” he said, as if that was the next logical step in the conversation.

  Henry nodded and started toward the tables. She could feel Gideon behind her. All the nervous giddiness she’d felt at the idea of dancing a waltz with him had fled. It was her own fault.

  She’d asked a question and she received an answer. She would never learn.

  ***

  “So, how did it go? Was Operation Steal Henry From Blue a success?” Tom asked. He glanced back at the group at the table.

  Gideon didn’t answer, just kept plodding toward the sidewalk, dodging a toddler, a kissing couple and two small dogs on leashes.

  “You wouldn’t even stay and share a meat pie with them. What did I tell you about the social aspect of sharing a meal? People enjoy eating and people enjoy eating in groups. It’s something we like to do,” Tom said.

  Gideon started back toward his car, wishing he was a drinker so he could drown his sorrows. As it was, all he could do was retreat to his little house in the woods, shut the door, and pretend none of this had ever happened.

  Tom kept pace with him. “I’m sensing things didn’t go well. Don’t give up. The kid is nice looking but he probably doesn’t know squat about Cane River history. That’s where you’ll impress her. Just keep up with that project you’ve got going on. You can’t spend all those evenings together by romantic lamplight and not have something happen.”

  Gideon let out a low groan. He couldn’t imagine sitting across the table from Henry, not after tonight. Tomorrow, he’d fix that basement door. They could work separately and he would pray that they only saw each other when there was a real necessity. “Nothing is going to happen. I’m going to avoid her from now on.”

  Tom reached out and grabbed his arm. “Hold on. Just slow down a second.”

  Gideon
wanted to shrug him off but their friendship didn’t allow that kind of behavior. He stopped, looking back to make sure they were far enough down the sidewalk that Henry was out of sight. “That was a mistake,” he said.

  “What happened? She didn’t jump into your arms? You’ve got to grow a thick skin, Gideon.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. He felt sick just thinking of everything he’d said. “It wasn’t her. It was me.”

  Tom started to laugh. “You step on her toes? Boy, that’s nothing. Shrug it off.”

  He looked up and something in his expression stopped Tom’s laughter in his throat. “There’s no way I can be in a relationship with anyone.”

  “Whoa.” Tom looked around and then gestured toward a free bench. “Sit down. Take a deep breath.”

  Gideon sat and stared at the people walking by, people who held hands, laughed, kissed, and carried their children. People who were as alien to him as another species.

  “What happened? I could see you two talking.”

  “No, I was talking,” Gideon said. “I talked and talked. I told her how Alanna probably only wanted to fix me and how I’m unfixable. Then I told her about my murdered parents and sister.”

  Tom slowly leaned back against the bench. “Okay. And what did she say?”

  Gideon made a sound in his throat. “What is there to say? Nothing. Nobody wants to hear that while they’re dancing.” He watched a teenage couple walking arm in arm. It looked so easy, so natural. “I was stupid to think that I could decide at my age to just… be different. This is the way I am. There’s no changing it.”

  “First of all, stop with the age stuff. We’re almost the same age and I’m still young.” Tom crossed his arms over his chest. “And secondly, I’m sure you didn’t just blurt all that out without some kind of encouragement. She didn’t ask you anything at all?”

  Gideon looked down at his hands, remembering how it felt to hold her close. “Maybe she did. I don’t remember.”

  “For the sake of argument, let’s say she did. Just one question. And you answered her honestly. Why is that bad?”

  Gideon shot him a look.