A Time to Keep (30 page)

More than twenty-five years of creating wish lists, making and breaking New Year's resolutions, and jotting down to-dos in her daily planner was over.

The tears filling her eyes blurred the face of the man who was now her husband when he cradled her chin and brushed her mouth with his.

“Hey you, Mrs. Harper,” he whispered for her ears only.

A rush of heat singed her cheeks. “Hey, yourself, Mr. Harper.”

Cradling her hand in the bend of his arm, Shiloh led his wife down the carpet and out of the church, smiling and ducking the shower of rice, bird seed and orange blossoms as a photographer captured their image for posterity.

They stood on the church steps smiling for those who snapped frame after frame of pictures. Bright sunlight glinted off the modern platinum band on his left hand as he once again held Gwen's face between his palms and kissed her.

He picked several grains of rice from her hair, smiling. “You take my breath away.”

Leaning into her husband, her left hand resting on the shawl collar of his dinner jacket, Gwen pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And I love you, Shiloh Harper.”

Shiloh held his wife to his heart, his thoughts echoing her words, his heart beating in unison with hers, and feeling what she felt. He'd waited a long time for someone like Gwendolyn Taylor-Harper to come into his life, and it was only now that he realized the wait had been worth it.

They returned to
Bon Temps
with the wedding party, posing for hundreds of frames on the manicured lawn, near the orchard under trees pregnant with their fruitful yield, inside the mansion along the winding staircase with the banister and newel posts festooned with pink flowers and light-green satin bows.

After the photo session ended, they stood in a receiving line thanking the one hundred invited guests who'd gathered under the shaded coolness of an immense white tent to dine on everything from caviar and exotic cheeses, to delicately prepared fish, savory chicken, lamb,
daube glace
—a cold spicy beef dish, and a plethora of Cajun and Creole dishes that had everyone reaching for anything liquid to counter the heat on a few sensitive taste buds. Bartenders mixed, stirred and popped bottle after bottle of quality French champagne. Ian Harper, as the wedding's chef and the groom's best man, had solidified his reputation as one of Louisiana's best chefs.

Gwen ate and drank sparingly as she accepted the good wishes from those who'd grown up and gone to school with Shiloh, and the personnel from the SMPD. The deputies who were scheduled to work stopped by during their meal break to offer their boss and his wife the best. Ian had provided takeout containers for those who were unable to remain long enough to sit and eat.

The afternoon became a blur as Gwen listened to the many toasts, cut the cake with Shiloh, and toasted each other with flutes of champagne. She was certain her father heard her sigh of relief when the wedding planner informed everyone that the frivolity would continue inside the house with dancing and a live band.

Shiloh's gaze narrowed when he noticed the sheen of moisture on his wife's flawless face. It was warm, but not so warm that she would perspire. “Are you feeling all right, darling?”

Gwen closed her eyes for several seconds. “I'm just a little dizzy.”

He knew it wasn't the champagne because she hadn't taken more than three sips of the wine. “Do you want to go inside and lie down?”

Smiling at him, Gwen shook her head even though it was the only thing she wanted to do. She was exhausted and somewhat overwhelmed with being the center of attraction. Now she knew how Caleb felt whenever someone recognized him from his book jacket photo. C. B. Samuels had always managed to keep his private life private.

Would she, as the wife of a parish sheriff and soon-to-be-again district attorney be able to keep a low profile? She was certain as a member of the Genteel Magnolia Society she would be called upon to champion local civic causes, but they were just that—local.

She'd lost count of the number of judges in attendance, and she'd heard more than once that the governor had received recommendations from those in the judiciary that Shiloh Harper could soon become Judge Harper.

Shiloh dipped his head, pressing his mouth to her ear. “Are you certain you're not pregnant?”

Eyes wide, she stared at him. “You know that I got my period.”

His expression did not change. “Did you take a test?”

“No! There's no reason why I should, Shiloh,” she whispered. “If I'm not pregnant, then I'm certain I will be since we've decided not to use protection.”

“I only asked because lately I notice that every time you drink something alcoholic you don't feel well. That never happened before we started sleeping together.”

Gwen pondered his statement for a full minute. The first time she'd taken the Samuels family to the Outlaw she'd ordered a beer and managed to drink less than half of it because her stomach rebelled. The night of the rehearsal dinner she had not swallowed more than a sip of wine, and again she felt dizzy.

“You're right.”

Reaching for her flute, Shiloh put it beyond her reach. “No more of that until you take a test.”

* * *

The feasting, drinking and dancing went on for hours in the ballroom under the thousands of lights from a massive crystal chandelier. And as daylight gave way to dusk, those who were fortunate enough to garner an invitation to Gwendolyn Pickering's soirees so many years before felt as if they'd stepped back in time when elegantly attired men and women came to
Bon Temps
to indulge in parties where the races mixed without regard to the laws and mores that frowned upon these illicit liaisons.

Gwen shared two dances with Shiloh: her favorite, “You're My Everything,” and his, “At Last.” She danced with her father, then Ian, who reminded her of the man with the ill-fitting toupee at the fund-raiser. When she told her new brother-in-law that the little man should patent his hair as a backscratcher, the chef laughed so loud that heads turned in their direction.

After removing her headpiece, she joined everyone doing the electric and cha-cha slide, then she lost count of the number of men who asked her to dance. Deputy Sheriff Jameson came by, in uniform, to spin her around the floor before she was handed off to her uncle Roy, Caleb, Nash, and then Augustine.

Her face ached from smiling, and her back ached from being on her feet for hours. She managed to get Lauren's attention, motioning for her to meet her upstairs.

* * *

Gwen expelled a sigh as Lauren undid the many buttons on the back of her gown. “You can stay as long as you wish,” she told her cousin. Her parents and Lauren's parents were also staying at
Bon Temps.

“We'll stay the weekend, then head back Monday afternoon. Mom and Dad said they're going to hang out here with Aunt Paulette and Uncle Mills for a few days. They're all flying back together on Wednesday.”

“Why don't you delay going back until they're ready to leave?”

“I don't think that's a good idea, because once the kids saw Cocoa they started complaining that they miss their dog. And you know my kids. Once they get onto something they don't know when to let up.”

Gwen had brought Cocoa back to
Bon Temps
with her. “Shiloh never said he missed me, but went on about how he missed his dog until I had to remind him for the umpteenth time that Cocoa is
my
dog.”

“Now she belongs to both of you.”

“You're right, Lauren.”

“Have you decided where you're going on your honeymoon once Shiloh gets his vacation?”

Turning, she stepped out of her gown. “I'm partial to Venice, and he wants Paris.”

Lauren lifted her eyebrows. “Italy and France are close enough to visit both cities.”

She nodded. “I'll think about it.”

Shiloh had to complete his term as sheriff before they could plan anything definitive. They'd contemplated a to-do list, but she had quickly changed her mind. She knew it wouldn't be easy not to jot down notes in her daily planner or make a notation on slips of paper, and live an unencumbered life.

Lauren hugged Gwen and kissed her cheek. “That's your problem, Mrs. Gwendolyn Harper. You think too much. Let go and live. You just married the sexiest man in the parish, and here you are agonizing over something four months away. Think about what's going to happen between you and your man tonight.”

Gwen returned her cousin's embrace. “On that note, I'll see you Monday morning.”

“Have fun,” Lauren called out over her shoulder as she walked out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.

The door opened again twenty minutes later, and Shiloh walked into the room. He'd changed out of his formal attire and into a lightweight suit. Pushing off the chair, Gwen waited for him to approach her.

“I'm ready, Shiloh.”

And she was. She was ready for her husband and for whatever they would offer each other.

He reached for her, pulling her to his chest. “Let's go home.”

Holding her hand, Shiloh led her down a back staircase and out to where he'd parked his car. She was ready and he was ready, ready to live out the rest of his life with the woman he'd vowed to love, honor and protect at the risk of forfeiting his own life.

G
wen closed her eyes and rested her head on Shiloh's shoulder as he carried her effortlessly up the staircase to their bedroom. They hadn't exchanged a single word since driving away from
Bon Temps
because there was no need to say anything. All they'd said or done before had led up to this moment when biblically they would become one with each other.

She opened her eyes and pressed her mouth to his warm brown throat. “Do you know what tonight is?”

“Yes. It's our wedding night.”

“No, Shiloh. It's more than our wedding night.”

Shiloh walked into their bedroom and placed her on the bed, his body following hers down. The light from a lamp on a table in the sitting room cast a warm glow throughout the expansive space. Supporting his greater weight on his forearms, he buried his face against the column of her neck. He pondered her cryptic statement, but came up blank.

“What is it?”

“I met you for the first time three months ago tonight.”

He raised his head, his gaze searching her shadowy face. “It's only been three months?”

Gwen nodded. “Amazing, isn't it?”

Shiloh recalled the night he'd gotten the call that a woman who “talked funny” was stranded along the road. She didn't talk funny, but differently from those whose roots ran deep in Southern Louisiana. She talked different, looked different, and her attitude was different from the women he'd grown up with and known most of his life.

He didn't know Gwendolyn well, didn't think he would ever know her well, but that was her appeal, because every day with her was a surprise. He never knew what she would say or do, keeping him off balance and more in love with her. The only thing Shiloh was certain of was that his wife would never bore him.

“Yes, it is amazing. You're amazing.”

“How, baby?” she crooned.

“I'll have to show you.”

Shiloh lifted his eyebrows, his hands going to the pins in her hair. One by one he removed them before he combed his fingers through the tangled curls.

Gwen let her senses take over. This wasn't the first time she'd slept with Shiloh, but would become the first time she would share her body with her husband.

His touch was gossamer, fingertips grazing her flesh with each article of clothing he removed. There was only the sound of their measured breathing and the whisper of fabric against bared skin. Shiloh undressed her, and she returned the favor, divesting him of his clothes.

A soft gasp escaped her parted lips when he swept her off the bed and headed into the adjoining bathroom. A motion
detector flooded the space with light. Shiloh touched the dimmer switch on a wall panel, and the bright yellow light faded to a soft, flattering pink glow.

Tightening her grip around his neck, Gwen inhaled the distinctive smell of the cologne clinging to Shiloh's body. She loved him, loved everything that made him who he was.

“I love you,” she intoned close to his ear.

Bending slightly, Shiloh set her on her feet. He stared at her beneath lowered lids. She loved him, and he loved and adored her. He'd told her that more times than he could count, but whenever he was unable to say the words he showed her.

“Thank you.” The two words were pregnant with a passion that came from a part of him no woman had ever touched.

He pulled her over to an area with a free-standing shower. Within seconds water pulsed from the many jets along the wall. The softly falling water fell over their head and bodies as they held each other, heart to heart.

Gwen felt Shiloh's strong heartbeat against her breasts, his sex, rising and hardening against her thighs. Time stood still for her when her husband shampooed her hair, then washed her body using his hands rather than her bath sponge. His fingers tempted, teased, taunted and tantalized her until she was closing to fainting.

Without warning, Shiloh became a cartographer, his mouth mapping every inch of her flesh, charting a course and claiming her as his. Their labored breathing overlapped the sound of falling water.

“Shiloh!” His name was torn from the back of her throat as the pulsing between her legs and heaviness in her breasts increased.

Hearing her strangled cry, feeling her trembling, and inhaling the rising scent of her desire mingling with the vanilla musk fragrance of Gwen's shampoo and body wash, Shiloh
knew that his wife was close to climaxing. From the first time they'd shared a bed his mission was to know her body as well as he knew his own. It had taken every fiber of his selfcontrol not to make love to her in the shower. Not tonight. Not on their wedding night.