He turned the corner and the house came into view. He felt his hands start to sweat. He hadn’t called Henry yet. He’d been swinging between the need to hear her voice and the fear of trying to navigate the details of their date over the phone. He’d almost gone to Oakland Plantation but then wondered if she’d feel crowded. He didn’t want to be a pest. He’d see her soon, either in the basement working, or at the latest, on Saturday. Of course, with all those priests in tow, it might not be the best time, either.
There was a chance she was working right now. Not a strong chance, but still. He smoothed down his shirt and tried to remember they were both adults. There wasn’t any reason for any angst or drama. If he and Henry decided it just wasn’t working, they could still be friends. There wasn’t any reason to be so unnerved. That’s what he told himself as he walked toward the house, but the truth was that he felt less anxious when he lived in a prison filled with murderers. The realization that he was more afraid of dating Henry than being roommates with convicted felons was a blow to his ego.
He looked up and caught a flash of dark clothing near the basement steps. He slowed, watching a man emerge from the stairwell. His head was down and covered with the hood of an old sweatshirt. Gideon stepped out of the man’s line of sight and waited until he reached the sidewalk.
“Hello, there.” He kept his voice light and friendly.
Barney Sandoz looked up with such an expression of fear and horror that it would have been funny if Gideon wanted to scare him. As it was, Gideon was trying his hardest to make sure he didn’t have a repeat of last Saturday’s rage fest.
“Did you need something? I have a key to the basement,” he said.
Sandoz shook his head, eyes wide. He didn’t seem like he was able to form words at the moment.
“I heard through the grapevine that you had an interest in Arthur’s collection. He left it to me but I’d be glad to let you take a look at it sometime.” A well-supervised look, of course.
“No, I’m just checking on the house. I’m buying it and need to clean out that basement.” Sandoz’s voice shook a little bit he spoke but his eyes were narrowed.
“You are?” Gideon turned and looked back at the house. “I knew they were getting it ready to sell. I guess I’ll have to move that collection out of the basement this weekend, then.”
“Actually, everything in the house is mine. That was written in the offer I made on the house.” Sandoz stood up straighter, as if he was finally getting his nerve back.
“No, it doesn’t work that way. You can have everything else. Not the collection.” Gideon dropped the friendly tone.
Sandoz turned and started walking quickly toward the river walk. “I’ve put a lock on the door. Just to keep it safe. You know, from thieves.”
“Like yourself, you mean.” Gideon kept up with him, step for step. “I saw what you did to the door.”
“You don’t have any proof.” Sandoz reached the river walk. “You stay out of the basement and away from the collection. It’s mine. I paid for it.”
“You didn’t pay for anything. It’s not yours.” He towered over him, hands at his side, breathing evenly. He didn’t want to cross any lines but Sandoz needed to know Gideon wouldn’t back down.
“I heard what you done to Reggie. He says he’s gonna make sure Nightmare Jones and his pals pay you a visit.” Sandoz smirked. “I know who has the power in this town.”
Shock flashed through his system. He’d pegged Sandoz for a small-time thief and crack local historian who liked to stick his nose in every project, but if he was dropping names from Angola, Sandoz was a whole different kind of man. Nightmare Jones might be on death row, but he had power. He had men in every major Southern city who would die for him, or kill for him. Gideon spent years staying invisible to men like that.
“If they do, I’ll be ready. But you better be ready, too,” Gideon said.
Sandoz looked around at the people wandering passed and then raised his voice. “Don’t touch me! You can’t threaten me, I have rights. I’ll call the police and report you.”
“Nobody’s threatening you. I meant that you’d better watch your back where Nightmare Jones and his posse are concerned. He’s not the type to―”
Sandoz stumbled backward, clutching his chest. “I said don’t touch me,” he yelled. A man carrying a grocery sack stopped to watch them. Two women on the other side whispered to each other.
“Shut up. Nobody’s hurting you,” he said, feeling his face go hot. Sandoz wasn’t only more than a petty criminal, he knew how to play the game.
“You can’t make me keep quiet. I know what you did,” Sandoz was glancing around, a half smirk mixing with his expression of fake horror.
Feeling fury rise up in him, Gideon took a step in his direction. It was the wrong move.
“Help, help,” Sandoz yelled and turned, running into Lorena’s Grocery store.
Gideon stood there for a moment, wanting to go after the man and knowing that it would only make it worse. Little creep. He ignored all the whispers and stares as he turned back to Finnemore house.
Whatever Sandoz thought he could do with the basement collection, the reality was that it was Cane River Creole history. It didn’t belong to anyone. Gideon legally owned those papers, but he would only claim it that so he could complete the project. All of it belonged to the people of Natchitoches.
He reached the basement door and felt a wave of pure anger sweep through him at the sight of a giant padlock attached to the frame. Looking more closely, he was thankful that while Sandoz may have friends in low places, he didn’t have the brains to really board the place up tight. Gideon took out his Swiss Army knife and using the mini screw driver, made quick work of the metal plate attached to the big oak door. He let the padlock swing to the side, intact.
Shaking his head at the fact that Sandoz thought a padlock could keep him out, Gideon walked inside. The dim interior looked exactly the same but he lit all the lamps and did a thorough accounting of the boxes, just in case. Gideon still felt the urge to check every pile that had been sorted, catalogued and scanned. He was just looking at the last stack when he heard a noise at the door and whirled around, hands at the ready, imagining the tattooed and sneering faces he remembered from prison.
“Hey,” Henry said. She sounded a little wary, or nervous. He wasn’t sure which. Her hair was back up in a ponytail and the glasses were in place.
“Hey.” He walked forward, fighting back the frightening images his brain had supplied. As he came closer, she moved as if she wanted to touch him but wasn’t sure how. Gideon thought of giving her a hug, but by the time he’d decided to try it, the moment had passed and she’d turned around.
“What’s going on with the big lock?” she asked, jerking a thumb toward the door.
Gideon explained about Barney Sandoz and his bid on the house, but he omitted the connection to Reggie and the prison gang members. Thinking of Reggie made him flush with shame and he hurried on with his story, skipping over the fight on the sidewalk and ending with Sandoz insisting he owned the papers.
“We need to remove these now,” she said. She looked toward the boxes. “I wish I had a truck. Do you know anyone with a truck?”
He shook his head. “I’ll call Tom and see if he knows anyone. But I don’t think Sandoz can get in here. Everything looks the same. Let’s try to get some work done, then I’ll put the padlock back the way it was. That should buy us some time to move the collection.”
“Sounds good.” There was something off in her voice but he couldn’t quite figure out what. She reached up and tightened her ponytail, wincing a little. “Let’s get to work.”
Gideon pulled out his phone and dialed Tom, leaving a quick message when he didn’t answer. Bringing over another box, he set it on her side of the table. Maybe she felt unappreciated. He’d always worked alone and it hadn’t occurred to him to tell her how glad he was for the help and what a wonderful job she did.
She lo
oked up and the lamplight flickered against her glasses. He wished she’d take them off so he could see her eyes. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
There was that something in her tone again, something that said she didn’t really want to talk. “I― no.” He went to his end of the table.
They worked in silence for a while. Finally, he decided that he’d rather annoy her with talking than take the risk of looking ungrateful. He shuffled his papers. “Henry?”
“Yes?” She seemed resigned, sad.
“I wanted to say that…” He waved his hand at the stacks of boxes. “You, working with me here, it’s important that I―”
“I know,” she blurted out. “I know you don’t want anything to come between you and this project.”
He blinked a few times. “That wasn’t quite what I wanted to say.”
She dropped her chin for a moment then said, “Did we mess everything up? Should we try to go back to the way we were?”
She was having second thoughts. He knew why. She’d seemed off from the moment she walked in. Maybe she’d come here tonight thinking he wouldn’t be here and she could work alone. She’d been afraid of him once, and now she knew she had good reason. “Do what you think is right.”
There was a flash of hurt in her eyes. He felt an answering stab of pain near his heart and he stood up, walking to the row of boxes near the wall, pretending to look for a paper he needed. He desperately wanted her to say she would still see him, outside of this project, but he knew it was too much to expect.
“We should put the project first,” she said. “It’s more important than anything else.”
He wanted to argue, but he saw her point. Hundreds of years of history did come before any hope they might have of being more than friends. “You’re right.”
“Life is complicated enough, really.” She sounded like she was talking to herself.
He knew where she was going. “When did you hear about Reggie?” he asked.
“Who?” Her voice sounded small and tired.
“The kid I was mentoring. The one I tried to strangle.”
“What?” The word echoed against the basement walls.
He turned to see her eyes had gone wide in shock. “It’s a long story. Don’t worry about it.”
She got up from her chair and came toward him. “No, wait. I want to hear about this guy, Reggie.” She crossed her arms over her chest and Gideon knew there was no point in trying to keep it from her.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart
and speaks another.” ― Homer, The Iliad
He told the story, again, as quickly as he could. Nathan’s terrified face haunted him, in his waking hours, in his dreams.
“Wow. That’s pretty bad,” she said softly.
Gideon closed his eyes for a moment. Tom was his friend and his brother. He also loved him unconditionally. But Henry was different. He saw the truth in her eyes and it was brutal.
“Good thing you didn’t really hurt him. You could have lost your job and gone back to jail. I can’t imagine life here without you.” She seemed to reconsider her words. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to finish this project without you.” She let out a soft laugh. “And I thought I’d had a bad weekend.”
He wanted to ask her to go back to the bit about not wanting to live without him but he didn’t. “You’re not afraid of me?”
“You?” A smile started on her lips and spread to her eyes. “Would it be wrong of me if I liked you even more now?”
Even more. He would take any increase in liking, any way he could get it. “I’m not sure that’s the healthiest response to my story.”
“Maybe I’m just like Alanna. Maybe I’m only attracted to you because I’m looking for a dangerous man to tame,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.
“I’d say you’re not doing a very good job since I’ve become more violent since I met you.”
“I’ll just have to give up my plan to mold you into a better man, then.” The smile faded from her lips. “Honestly, I understand why it happened. If I were a big guy like you, I’d have been tempted to do the same thing.”
He let out a short laugh. “Never. You’re perfect. You would never hurt anybody.”
She dropped her gaze. They were only a few feet apart now but Gideon still wished she’d take off her glasses.
“So, what was that about your weekend?”
She shook her head. “No, nothing. I mean, breakfast on Saturday was great. But the rest…”
“I heard you got roped into driving the retired priests to Mount Driskill.”
“I hope you don’t think I was trying to get invited. I can beg off, if you want. I really wasn’t trying to horn in on your trip.” She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself.
“I’m pretty sure you have better things to do than chauffer a bunch of old men around the countryside. Some of these guys are practically living saints. And some were born cranky and only got worse with time. I’d love to have you along.” As her shoulders relaxed a little, he said, “You’re not going to tell me what happened, are you? Don’t hold back. It can’t be as bad as what I told you. I’m sure you didn’t lose your temper and try to strangle someone.”
She didn’t respond but he could see the glint of tears behind the reflection of the candle light on her lenses. “I can’t tell what you’re thinking,” he explained as he reached out and gently removed her glasses.
“I’m not a nice person,” she whispered.
He almost laughed. “Ridiculous.”
“I’m not a nice person and I say terrible things to people because I know I can and I know I’m right.”
“You told someone the truth for once?” He thought he could guess what had happened.
“I used to think I didn’t have friends because of how everyone lied, but now I know it’s just because of who I am. It’s not them, it’s me.” She went on, the words rushing out like a confession. “I have one friend but she’s only my friend because we’ve known each other forever. We’re more like family. But my family isn’t my family because I never really wanted to get to know them, or if I did, it was only so I can throw back everything in their faces. I thought being right meant that I was a good person, but it’s doesn’t. Being right is just being right. I’m still a mean, vindictive, cruel person who doesn’t care about anybody else at all.”
“Mean and vindictive? You’re―” He was at a loss for words. She was like a flare in the dark. She thought she was the siren but she was the lighthouse. She was hope, distilled into one human being and standing in front of him like a miracle. He reached out and cupped her cheek, brushing away a tear with his thumb. He wanted to say that he would walk through fire for her, that he was ready to face his demons just for a chance to be with her.
“Until I met you, I didn’t realize that I wasn’t really living.”
Her lips parted just a bit as if he’d surprised her, and he felt her smile against the palm of his hand. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” she whispered.
His gaze dropped to her mouth and he shifted, but after a few seconds the fear won out and he stayed where he was. She reached up and covered his hand with hers, turning her face until her lips pressed against his palm.
“We’re so broken,” she said, and he felt the warmth of her words against his skin. “Do you think we’ll tear each other apart?”
“Maybe we’ll keep each other honest,” he said.
She smiled against his palm. “Honest,” she said. “I like that.”
“If you ask me, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” His heart was pounding as he spoke. “I won’t hide from you.”
Her expression was solemn, as if they were exchanging vows. “I’ll be myself with you.” He could feel her trembling. “Even if I don’t like who I am.”
She lifted her other hand and let it rest against his chest, right over his heart.
He leaned down, looked into those beautiful sage green eyes, and waited for her to close the gap between them. The last time they’d been this close he hadn’t thought to go slowly and it had ended in disaster. Her eyes fell closed and she leaned close, close enough he could feel her breath against his lips.
But the next moment he heard someone clattering down the stairs and calling out, “Are you down here? I got your―”
Gideon leaned back, heaved a sigh and fixed Tom with a look. Henry gently dropped her hand, taking his with it, and stepped back.
“Hi, Father Tom.” Her cheeks were pink.
“Oh, hi, Henry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Tom said. He looked a little bit chagrined and a lot amused. “Who knew this moldy old basement was such a magically romantic spot? Figures that two historians would think this was perfect. I voted for the top of Mount Driskill, but Gideon never takes my advice.”
It wasn’t bad enough that their kiss had been interrupted again but now Tom was going to tease him mercilessly.
“Maybe he was prepping for Mount Driskill,” Henry said, squeezing his hand. “He’s too smooth to just make a sudden move. If he didn’t give a girl some warning, she might be covered in dirt and sweat and worse things. She just might jump away out of embarrassment and then regret it ever after.” She slid a look Gideon’s way and gave him the tiniest wink.
“Oh.” He couldn’t help grinning. So, that was one mystery solved. Henry hadn’t been afraid of him after all.
Tom cleared his throat loudly. “I’m still here,” he said. “And although I got your message, I still have no idea what’s going on.”
Gideon explained as quickly as he could and Tom’s expression turned darker and darker.
“You’ve got a real problem,” he said.
“We need a truck.” Henry waved her free hand at the boxes. “We need to move everything as soon as possible.”
“I think I know a few guys who can help. Will the collection be okay for tonight?”
Gideon nodded. “I’m pretty sure he can’t get in. I’ll reattach that padlock when we leave.”
These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance Page 24