by Heather Gray
“I know. You should have come and gotten me, though. I have to write you up. No fighting. It’s a big one here. These men look up to you, and you can’t behave like this. You might have done it for the right reasons, and I might even be glad you stepped in when you did, but I still can’t let it go without some sort of consequence.”
Gideon nodded. “I got no problem with that. I know the rules. I chose to break them, and I’d do it again. My conscience is clean in this.”
Sam frowned at the other man. “I can respect — appreciate even — your desire to step in and protect Skye. If something like that happens again, though, I need you to come get me.”
Gideon returned his frown. “Who knows what he would have done to her?”
“It would have taken you thirty seconds. Or you could have sent one of the other men for me while you tried to verbally diffuse the situation. Force is never the right first choice.”
He didn’t say the words, but Gideon clearly didn’t agree.
“Having said that, it didn’t go unnoticed that you used a headlock on him.” He could have gone for a chokehold. Gideon knew how. He’d opted for the less lethal – and more legal – headlock, though. Which meant he’d been in control of his actions, and that was big. Not just big — huge. The choice of headlock also meant Sam didn’t have to call the police and report the incident. Had it been a chokehold, no matter how much he hated it, the results would have been out of his hands. They would have all been forced to say goodbye to Gideon.
The man in question grunted. “I wanted to restrain him. Not kill him.”
“I need you to apologize.”
“Sure thing.” Gideon hopped to his feet with more agility than his grey hair would have indicated.
Sam followed him across the parking lot and nodded to Franco, who stepped aside and allowed Gideon to pass. Not that he expected Gideon to act like Alan, but he still listened in on the conversation as Gideon approached Skye.
“I’m sorry about what happened. We’re not all like that. Alan just has some demons riding his back. Makes him hard to be around, but we’ve all been there at one time or another. It might not seem like it at the moment, but this is the safest place for him to be because we understand him. We’ve been where he is.”
Skye’s words reached Sam through the open door. “Thank you for coming to my rescue — and for the explanation. I hope you didn’t get reprimanded.”
“Everything’s fine.”
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Gideon. Sorry. Should have introduced myself.”
“You’re a good man, Gideon. I appreciate what you did for me.”
Gideon left the laundry room and went back to his room. Sam nodded to Franco, who headed across the courtyard. His chair sat out by his door, and he settled into it. Even sitting down, he was an intimidating figure.
Sam poked his head around the doorframe. Skye was a woman who dressed like she’d had an easy life. Sam would bet money she wore only designer labels. The outfit she wore must have cost at least as much as his entire wardrobe. But she’d been gracious to Gideon. Gideon was more genteel than most of the men in residence, but he was still homeless, and she knew that. This wasn’t the first thing about Skye that didn’t jibe. She was a walking, talking contradiction.
Skye leaned against one of the dryers.
“Doin’ all right?”
Her eyes lifted to him, and she gave a small nod. “There’s not much to do but wait for the next load to finish. This would be faster if you owned another washer and dryer.”
He nodded. “Those things cost money, and our funding is keeping us up and running for now but not doing a whole lot to provide for luxuries like extra washers and dryers.”
“Everybody has to start somewhere.”
For her wellbeing, he should broach the subject with her, but everything in her demeanor said she wouldn’t welcome the intrusion. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“I told you everything.”
“You told me the facts, and I appreciate it. You didn’t tell me what made you run.” Or throw up.
She shrugged.
“Please.”
Her eyes snapped to his, hot with anger. As soon as their gazes connected, though, the heat seeped out of her eyes. She took a breath. In the millisecond before her eyelids slid down, those captivating golden orbs radiated a depth of pain few people showed, one she couldn’t have intended for him to witness.
Her words came out in a murmur, and he leaned in close to catch them. “It’s like I got tunnel vision. All I could see was that man’s face as he yelled at me. I just stood there trying not to duck and cover.”
“Duck and cover?”
“Yeah, you know. When you throw your arms up and cower to protect yourself from a blow.”
He knew what duck and cover meant but, in his world, it had more to do with incoming artillery fire than with protecting oneself from an angry man. Sam’s heart twisted. There was a lot she wasn’t telling him, a past she wasn’t yet willing to share. “Can I give you a hug?”
Her eyes grew wide. “What kind of hug?”
“How many kinds are there?”
“There’s the creepy kind that lecherous old men give, the I-want-things-I-shouldn’t-want kind that men who think they’re better looking than they are give, the…”
“Comfort. A comforting hug. I feel bad this happened, and I just want to give you a hug and make sure you’re okay.”
“Oh. Well, that kind of hug is acceptable, I suppose.” Her voice was anything but certain.
CHAPTER 9
She talked a good talk, but the truth was Skye didn’t come from a family of huggers. Her mom had been a hugger, but she’d been gone far too long for those memories to be fresh.
Skye held herself still as Sam put his arms around her.
Hugs were supposed to be two-way interactions. But she just couldn’t…
She’d already admitted her fear out loud once that day. She couldn’t very well say it again. And pity had flashed in his eyes the last time. She didn’t do pity.
For a man who looked like he ripped the heads off stuffed kittens for fun in his spare time, Sam had a tender way of looking at her. His tall, broad form, earring, scar, and tattoos said he could snap her like a brittle twig if he ever decided to. His eyes, though, said he wanted to cocoon her in cotton batting to keep her safe.
How was Skye supposed to know who he really was?
Especially when she didn’t even know who she was.
Sam released her from his platonic hold and took a step back. She hadn’t gotten around to returning the hug. She’d been too busy living inside her head, trying to sort out who this man was and whether or not to trust him. Oh well. She’d never see him again, anyway.
“I don’t suppose you’ll ever want to come back for another visit after today…” He let the words hang between them.
Skye stared at her sandals.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a great addition to our volunteer staff. Having you around might inspire some of the men to work on developing their civilized manners again. When you live away from women for a long time, you kind of forget how to treat other people. That’s part of what makes it hard for men to acclimatize back to civilian life after serving.”
“Women, too.” Her voice was small.
“Yeah, women, too. I don’t have the facilities or staff to take this place co-ed, so I get single-minded sometimes.”
Skye nodded.
Would she come back? Not likely. Sam scared her, Alan terrified her, and all the men had heard her heaving behind the motel. They’d eat her for breakfast if she ever returned.
She stuck her hand out. “Thank you for showing me around today. I wish you all the best with what you’re doing. There’s an evident need. I hope you can meet whatever demands the City Council makes so that you can keep your doors open.”
Sam took her hand in his large, warm one and shook it. His gri
p was firm, strong. Those stuffed kittens didn’t stand a chance.
When she got around to meeting his gaze, though…
Those stunning eyes of his… Why couldn’t they be cold, hard, or unfeeling?
Instead, they had so much emotion in them that she couldn’t sort out all the strands. Sadness, compassion, tenderness, concern, and a dozen others she couldn’t begin to name. Not pity this time, though. That was weird. After the twenty different kinds of sideways the day had gone, shouldn’t she be on the receiving end of an unwanted pity fest?
Skye broke the handshake, collected her purse, and slipped past Sam to get out the door.
No pity. Huh. Her estimation of Mr. Sam Madison went up.
Gritting her teeth, she took a peek back.
Sam stood in the doorway to the laundry room, his eyes following her. A dozen men gathered in groups of two and three around the parking-lot-turned-courtyard. None of the men bothered to soften their words with a whisper. Their voices carried easily across the battered asphalt.
“Think she’ll come back?”
“We didn’t scare her off, did we?”
“That one’s a keeper, Boss.”
Skye climbed into her car and pulled onto the street, making a U-turn and heading back the way she’d come.
After the day she’d had? No. She wasn’t going back. A herd of wild unicorns couldn’t drag her back to Samaritan’s Reach.
Cringe? Or cry? Skye stood, lost, in the middle of a department store.
Granted, she had zero intention of ever going back to Samaritan’s Reach, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t help them. Those men were in dire need of some of the basic creature comforts of everyday life.
Socks.
Underwear.
She shook her head. That was what she got for folding laundry. If she hadn’t taken it upon herself to do that, she wouldn’t have discovered the deplorable condition of most of the men’s clothing.
She couldn’t block the mental image of the men’s clothes. It taunted her, distracting her from the other things she ought to be concentrating on. Like doing her job. And furnishing her home.
She’d managed to resist the urge for a while, but she’d finally given up. Or given in. None of those men could go for a job interview anywhere. Not even a fast food restaurant would hire them if they showed up dressed in the clothes they currently owned.
“Skye!”
She braced herself and pivoted toward the voice of her old friend. Tawny wrapped her in a quick but fierce hug. There were few things Tawny did by half measure, and hugs were no different. A hug from Tawny required bracing oneself or risk toppling over.
“Hi, Tawny.”
“What’re you doing here? This can’t be the sort of place you normally shop, not with all your fancy labels and dry-clean-only clothes.”
Was that a compliment? She was better off not asking. “I thought I’d buy some things for the men at Samaritan’s Reach.”
Her friend’s eyes widened. “You know about our local vet’s shelter? Look at you, getting out and about and plugged into town politics.” Tawny pulled her into a side-hug. “I’m so glad you’re home.”
Home.
The word warmed her heart.
Even so, adjusting to Tawny’s exuberance was going to take a while.
“They need things. Like socks and underwear and stuff. So I was going to buy some, but I didn’t know what kind. I’ve never purchased clothes for a man before.”
“What about your grandpa?”
Skye shook her head. “Heavens no. I bought him a new watch every Christmas and a new pen for each birthday.”
Tawny crossed her eyes. “Bo-oring. Why the same gift all the time?”
“That’s what he wanted.”
“You weren’t allowed to buy him anything else?”
Skye shrugged. “It never occurred to me to try.”
“Never mind that, then. We’ll figure it out as we go.” With those words, Tawny hooked her fingers through the end of Skye’s shopping cart and towed it along behind her as she ventured into the men’s underwear aisle.
“Are you sure you know…?”
“You worry too much.” Tawny tossed a glance over her shoulder. “I know exactly what I’m doing.” She started grabbing packages off the hooks and tossing them into the cart.
“Um… I’m glad you know what you’re doing, but do you think you could clue me in?”
“You have lots of men. Socks don’t come in that many sizes. You can buy socks in bulk and let the people there sort them out, or write names on them, or whatever they do. No need to get different socks for everybody. Plus, if the socks are all the same and you lose one, you can hold onto the remaining one until you lose another. Then you’ll be back to having a matched pair.”
Skye inched the cart forward as Tawny moved down the aisle. Men’s underwear. Skye glanced over at her friend. “This part’s not as easy as socks, is it?”
The two women stood side-by-side, taking in the display.
Tawny shook her head. “Not easy at all. I didn’t know they made so many different kinds. Boxers, briefs, boxer briefs, super briefs, sport briefs, low-rise briefs, bikini briefs, g-string…”
“Not those. Categorically. No. Not those.” Skye cut her friend off before she could name any of the other options further down the aisle.
“Can you imagine buying these for your grandfather?” Tawny held up a package of red, sparkly, barely-there underwear.
Skye fanned her heated face as she took the package from Tawny and hung it up on one of the hooks. Backwards. So she didn’t have to look at it. “Which of these do you think men wear the most?”
Tawny rolled her eyes, but her cheeks had a touch of flame to them, too. “It seems like the ones they have the most of would be the most popular ones, right? Half of this aisle is boxer briefs, so I’d say those.”
“They don’t look like what I folded, though.”
Tawny spun around to face her, brows arched. “You what? What did you fold? When? Why are you folding men’s underwear?”
A man who had started down the aisle toward them backed his cart out before spinning it in the opposite direction.
“I went to Samaritan’s Reach.”
“You?”
Skye pursed her lips. “I’m not a terrible person, you know.”
Tawny’s mouth dropped open. “I didn’t mean it like that. Please know that. I just… You’re just…”
“Afraid.”
Tawny’s eyebrows rose. “I was going to say classy. Why would I think you were afraid?”
Where was a good, old-fashioned sinkhole to open up and swallow you whole when you needed one? Skye reached both arms up, wrapped them around as many packages of underwear as she could manage, yanked them off their hooks, and dumped them into the cart. “There. Lots of sizes, and I think I got a couple different kinds, too.”
Tawny’s mouth quirked up as she stared from Skye to the shopping cart full of men’s undergarments. She reached down and pulled a package from the pile. “What about this one?”
If Skye could chant that sinkhole into existence, she would. “I don’t know how that got in there.”
Tawny waved the package clearly labeled bikini briefs, and burst into laughter. “They have…” She could barely get the words out between her gales of laughter, but she wasn’t one to give up. “They have flowers on them.”
Skye leaned in to get a closer look. Sure enough. Skimpy men’s underwear with flowers on them. She would never be able to fold laundry again without blushing if those ended up in one of the baskets at Samaritan’s Reach. Not that she planned on going back and folding again. But still…
Skye grabbed the package from Tawny, tossed it in the general direction of where she thought it was supposed to be hanging, and dragged her friend out of the aisle while manhandling the cart like a pro.
Skye was laughing by the time they left the underwear section.
Not a little chuckle, either
, and not the kind of laugh made when trying to humor someone else who is laughing. She was laughing so hard her sides ached. “I’m never… going shopping… with you… again.”
Tawny poked at one of the packages of underwear. “Oh, yes you are. Shopping without me will be boring from now on. You’ll be begging me to go with you.”
Skye slapped a hand over her eyes. “I can’t stop laughing if you keep touching the underwear.”
CHAPTER 10
May
Two weeks slipped by without another visit from Skye.
Alan had stayed out of trouble, for the most part, but Sam wasn’t quite ready to let his guard down where that particular resident was concerned.
“Hey, Boss, you got any rules about long distance calls?” Gideon leaned over the office counter.
“As long as it’s not international, have at it.”
Gideon came through the door and into the back-office space, picked up the phone from Sam’s desk, and stood there.
Sam looked up from the spreadsheet consuming his attention. “Need something else?”
Gideon stared over Sam’s shoulder. “I…uh… Miss Skye got me to thinking. About who I am and who I used to be. She thinks I’m a good man.”
Sam leaned back in his chair but didn’t say anything.
“I used to be a respectable man, but then I ran away, and I think maybe I left some hurt people behind. If I’m going to be that kind of man again, I…” Gideon pushed his spectacles up before meeting Sam’s eyes. “I need to call my sister, let her know I’m alive, and apologize for making her worry all these years.”
“How many years since you talked to her?”
Gideon studied at his shoes. “Twenty, give or take.”
Sam stood, cupped a hand on Gideon’s shoulder, and nodded toward the outer office. “I’ll give you some privacy. Would you like me to pray with you before you call her?”
“No, that’s okay. But feel free to say a prayer for me.”
“You got it, but do me a favor and stay in the outer office. Nobody’s allowed back here unless I’m present.”
“Sure thing, Boss. Thanks.”