A Time to Keep (15 page)

Shiloh pointed to one of a couple in their wedding finery. “These were my mama's people.”

Gwen peered closer at a tall bearded man with a petite black woman. “So, he was the infamous Outlaw.”

He pointed to another wedding photo. “Those were my daddy's folks, and this one was taken the day Dad was sworn in as the parish's first black sheriff.” He ran a finger around one with an oval silver frame. “This is the last picture my parents took together.”

Gwen heard the pain in Shiloh's voice before she glanced at his face. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “What happened, Shiloh?” Her voice was low, soothing. When he didn't answer her, she turned and curved her arms under his shoulders, holding him as if she were offering comfort to a child. Resting her cheek on his chest, she listened to the strong pumping of his heart. They stood motionless, heart to heart, offering and accepting comfort and trust.

Shiloh's hands moved up and cradled Gwen's head. Lowering his head, he pressed his mouth to her hair. “That photograph was taken the day Virgil and Moriah Harper celebrated their thirty-seventh wedding anniversary. It was also the day Dad announced that he was going to retire once his term expired. A week later he was gunned down when he walked in on a bank robbery in progress. I…” His words trailed off as he recalled the telephone call from his mother telling him that his father had been shot.

“What happened to the bank robber, darling?” The endearment had slipped unbidden from Gwen's lips.

Inhaling, Shiloh continued, “He took his own life right there in the bank. He was a fifteen-year-old kid who'd acted on a dare because he'd wanted to fit in with a group of older boys who were always getting into trouble. The whole damn thing was so useless because the lives of two good people
ended because of a stupid-ass prank. All of Teche turned out for the funerals when my mother buried her husband and Clovis Ward buried her only child within days of each other.”

Easing back, Gwen stared up at Shiloh staring down at her. “What happened to the other boys?”

“My last act as district attorney before I was appointed to serve out my father's term was to bring conspiracy indictments against three of the six boys. One was sent to a juvenile detention facility. He'll be there until his nineteenth birthday. The other two were given probation.”

Shiloh's disclosure that he was a lawyer explained A.D.A. Keith Nichols's cryptic parting remark:
We're counting down the days, boss.
“Locking someone up won't bring back your father or that other kid, but at least it sends a message that you can't throw the rock, then hide your hand.”

Shiloh nodded. “You're right. The case served to broaden the state's conspiracy laws.”

“How does Moriah feel about you being sheriff?”

“It is a subject we don't discuss.”

Gwen tightened her grip around his shoulders. “Once you serve out your father's term, are you going to run for the office?”

“No,” he said smoothly, with no expression on his face. “I like prosecuting the bad guys and sending them away where they can't hurt law-abiding citizens.”

Gwen sighed. “Good.”

Shiloh stared down at her. “Why would you say that?”

“Prosecuting criminals is safer than arresting them.”

His eyebrows lifted as he bit back a smile. “Don't tell me you're concerned about my well-being.”

“Yeah, I am,” she teased. “I think I like you, Shiloh Harper, and because I do, I don't want anything to happen to you.”

His fingers tightened on her scalp. “You like me?”

She nodded, wrinkling her short nose. “Just a little.”

“Why only a little?”

“I don't know you.”

“Do you want to get to know me?”

Gwen was certain he could feel her heart beating against his chest. “Yes, I do.”

His head came down slowly. “And so do I.” He nuzzled the side of her neck. “I want to know everything about you. What makes you laugh, cry, happy or sad. And I want to know what I have to do to make you feel good.”

Her trembling limbs clung to him as she inhaled his masculine scent, luxuriated in his body's heat, and gloried in the strength of his embrace. She shivered when his warm breath feathered over an ear.

Men had held her before, but this was the first time she felt protected
and
fulfilled. Shiloh hadn't made love to her, yet the sensations coursing throughout her body were similar to those she experienced in the aftermath of a climax.

She closed her eyes and smiled. “We can begin with honesty and respect.”

“You've got it. What else, darling?”

“Trust. I have to be able to trust you, Shiloh.”

“I promise never to give you a reason not to trust me.”

Gwen opened her eyes. “Don't promise. Just do it.”

Shiloh's hands fell away from her head, coming to rest on her shoulders. His stare drilled into her with a gentle but firm warning. “Please don't lecture me about trust, Gwen. I married a woman, believing I could trust her, but I was wrong. I know firsthand what it feels like to be deceived, not only in my own bed but also with my best friend.”

His revelation stunned Gwen. His coming home and finding a man in bed with his woman was like a TV melodrama. “What did you do?” she whispered.

Shiloh did not want to relive the scene that was imprinted
on his mind, but he'd promised Gwen that he would be truthful with her. “I told them that I was going out, and when I returned, I hoped not to see them. I drove around for a couple of hours with a loaded gun on the passenger seat while asking myself if I wanted to stand trial for two counts of murder.

“I spent the night sitting by my father's grave. I suppose I was looking for answers from a dead man because I missed our father-son talks. Then I thought about Mama. She'd just lost her husband, and it would've destroyed her to lose her son, too. I returned home, packed my clothes, and moved back with my mother until my divorce was final. I gave Deandrea everything she wanted just to be rid of her. Everything I had with her up to that point ended when she moved back to New Orleans.”

Rising on tiptoe, Gwen brushed her lips against Shiloh's. “I'm glad you didn't shoot them.”

“So am I,” he said as his lips left hers to sear a path down her neck, and further to her bare, scented shoulders.

Gwen opened her mouth and gave in to the dizzying sensations pulling her into an erotic undertow from which there was no escape. She swallowed a moan as the pulsing between her thighs thrummed in concert with the tingling sensation in her breasts. She didn't know Shiloh Harper, but none of that mattered. Touching him, tasting him, smelling him was a dreamy intimacy that hinted of more—so much more than she was ready for at the moment.

Reluctantly, she pulled back, her chest rising and falling as if she'd run a grueling race. “Take me home, Shiloh.”

He cradled her face between his hands, his gaze racing over her strained features. “What's the matter, darling?”

Her eyelids fluttered wildly. “Take me home before I ask you to do something I know I'll regret later.”

“What do you want?”

Gwen closed her eyes against his penetrating stare. “Please, don't ask me.”

“Did we not promise to be truthful with each other?”

She opened her eyes. “That's doesn't mean I have to tell you my innermost secrets.”

Shiloh refused to relent. “I'm not going to take you home until you tell me what's bothering you.”

“You can't do that.”

“Why not? After all, I am the law.”

“That constitutes an abuse of power.”

“You can file a complaint.”

She stomped her foot. “Shiloh!”

He laughed, the sound low, throaty. “Tell me what it is you want, Gwendolyn.”

Gwen knew she had to tell Shiloh or their impasse would never be resolved. She'd met someone who was as stubborn as she was. “It's been a long time since I've been involved with a man.”

“How long?”

“Four years.”

“Go on,” he urged gently.

She stared at a spot over his shoulder. “Being here with you, kissing you just reminded me of what I haven't had in four years.”

“Look at me, Gwen. Look at me,” Shiloh repeated when she hesitated. He caught and held her gaze. “This is just not about you or me. It's about us. I know what you're feeling because I have the same feelings. If we're going to have any type of relationship I don't want it to be based on sex. That I can get from any woman.”

“Or me from any man,” Gwen added.

Shiloh nodded. “If and when we share a bed, it will be at the right time and for the right reason.”

“What would constitute the right reason?”

The gold-green eyes smoldered with passion and tenderness. “A commitment to see each other exclusively.”

Gwen blinked once. Shiloh Harper offered her what she'd sought from a man the first time she'd thought that she was in love. A smile softened her mouth. She would enjoy her time with Shiloh, and if or when it ended she would be left with her memories.

“You can take me home now.”

Without verbalizing it, Gwen had let Shiloh know that he could look forward to reviving a part of his life that had ended with his marriage—a social life.

He'd brought her home to talk, listen to music and dance.

They'd talked.

Dancing and listening to music would have to come later.

I
want to know everything about you.

What makes you laugh, cry, happy or sad.

And I want to know what I have to do to make you feel good.

Gwen smothered a yawn behind her hand as the interior decorator removed an instrument with a flat blade from her leather satchel. She was exhausted.

She'd spent the past few nights tossing and turning as she agonized over whether she'd made a mistake in agreeing to date Shiloh. The physical attraction was evident—for both—but she had to ask herself whether she needed Shiloh as much as she wanted him. Everything about him was a constant reminder of how long it'd been since she'd decided not to become involved with a man.

Tuesday morning she'd spent three hours in the
Tribune
's office. Nash McGraw had talked nonstop, giving her an historical overview of the parish. The newspaper's part-time
staff of four included two contributing editors from the neighboring parishes of St. Mary and the northern portion of Terrebonne, and because she'd begun her tenure with the
Gazette
covering the crime desk, Nash wanted her to write the Blotter.

She now wondered if the editor's decision to hire her as a crime reporter was based on her prior experience or because she'd attended the fund-raiser with the local sheriff.

Gwen, aware that she would be the liaison between the
Tribune
and the St. Martin Parish Police Department, had to keep in mind that her position with the newspaper could possibly impact her attempt to have a personal relationship with Shiloh.

“There's another pattern under this one.”

The interior decorator's voice pulled her out of her reverie. “What did you say?” She looked at the woman as she peeled an inch-wide strip of paper off the wall in the master bedroom.

The auburn-haired woman with sparkling emerald-green eyes removed a second layer of paper from the wall. “It looks as if there are several more layers here.” Turning, she stared at Gwen. “What do you want to do?”

“What are my alternatives?” she asked, answering Lina Davidson's question with one of her own.

“I can have all of the paper removed, repair whatever damage there is to the walls and paint them.”

Resting a hand against her cheek, Gwen shook her head. “No.” Within seconds she reached a decision. “I want all of the bedrooms papered.”

“What about the sitting rooms?”

“I want them painted in pastels that correspond to the wallpaper's dominant color.”

“What colors do you want for this room?”

Gwen stared at the fading blue and peach-colored patterned paper. “Pale yellow, lime-green and ecru. The walls in
the sitting room can be painted yellow or a pale green. Will you be able to get fabric in the same pattern as the paper?”

Lina smiled as she entered notes into her Blackberry. “Yes. The textile manufacturer I work with does happen to make matching paper and fabric. What do you want the fabric for?”

“The window seats.” Many of the window seat cushions in the sitting rooms showed signs of wear and tear. “And I want a more masculine look in one bedroom.”

“How masculine?”

“Pinstriped paper. I'd like a soft dove gray background with a barely discernible white-striped pattern.”

“Do you want the same pattern on the window seat?” Lina asked, her thumbs moving over the handheld computer with amazing speed.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, Gwen closed her eyes. “No,” she said as she opened her eyes. “I'd like to go with a herringbone, glen plaid, or perhaps a tweed.”

Lina flashed a wide grin. “Very formal and somewhat British.”

Gwen was certain her father, uncle and brother-in-law would prefer sleeping in an English-inspired bedroom to one decorated with flowers and frills.

Lina made a call to a moving company to arrange to pick up the pieces to be refurbished by a team of renowned cabinetmakers. “They'll be here tomorrow to pick up all of the tagged items. A team of workmen will come Thursday to begin all of the outdoor work before the tropical storm season begins. They'll start with the replacement of window sashes and shutters. Then they'll move indoors. I project a couple of weeks for them to complete the walls before they strip the floors. You should consider finding somewhere else to stay while the floors are being scraped. The dust and the odor of the polyurethane can be irritating.”