A Time to Keep (10 page)

Shiloh covered the small hand resting on his sleeve, lowering his head and his voice. “Retired Army Colonel Dean Staunton is a military expert. Last year he came as a German Hessian.”

“Interesting.”

He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Do I detect a hint of cynicism, darling?”

Her frown fading, Gwen affected a saucy grin. “Of course not, dah-ling.”

Shiloh stared at Gwen, momentarily speechless in his surprise. She'd chided him for calling her darling because she viewed it as a term of endearment. “Be careful how you use that word, because I just might think you like me a little.”

“Of course I like you a little, Shiloh,” she admitted. “If I didn't, then I wouldn't have come here with you.”

“I thought—”

“Please, Shiloh. Let's try to get through this evening together without debating whether we like each other.”

Shiloh's gaze lingered on the black lace mask concealing the upper half of her face. He wanted to tell Gwen that what he was beginning to feel for her went beyond mere liking, that the more time they spent together the more his liking intensified. She was right. He didn't want to spend the night arguing or debating issues, but enjoying her witty conversation and sensual femininity. The crowd in the entryway thinned out and he gave his name to one of two masked women in powdered pompadour wigs.

“Sheriff Harper, you're on the dais. Your lady will be at table number two.”

Gwen compressed her lips tightly, wondering why Shiloh had asked her to accompany him if they weren't going to be seated together.

“I'll only be on the dais until we dispense with the speeches,” he whispered close to her ear, answering her unspoken query. “Then I'll be yours for the rest of the night.”

She was glad that her darker coloring and the mask hid the flush suffusing her face. “I'd like to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For referring to you as a piece of meat.”

Shiloh pressed a gentle kiss across her forehead. “Apology graciously accepted.” Pulling back, he angled his head. “We'll hang out together until I'm called to the dais.”

She nodded, smiling. “Okay.”

He smiled at the woman with whom he'd found himself utterly enthralled. She was highly intelligent, a trait he admired in women, and she appeared very secure, an even more admirable trait. She was opinionated, which meant they would never have a boring conversation, and most of all Gwen was sexy as hell without even trying.

Gwen followed Shiloh into a ballroom the length of a football field. Prisms of light from a dozen chandeliers sparkled like diamonds on table centerpieces of full-leaded crystal vases that overflowed with white flowers in every variety. The scent of flowers and perfumed bodies would've been overpowering if not for the climate-controlled air. A classical composition performed by an orchestra made entirely of string instruments provided the perfect backdrop for the elegantly attired people filing into the historic mansion.

Shiloh wrapped his left arm around Gwen's waist. “I'd like you to meet someone.”

“Who?”

The skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled. “You'll see,” he answered cryptically.

He rested a hand in the small of Gwen's back, steering her over to a tall slender woman in black, wielding a black lace fan, who looked as if she'd stepped out of the pages of a Jane Austen novel. A swarthy-skinned man with steel-gray hair dressed as a nineteenth-century gentleman farmer hung onto her every word.

“Mama?”

Moriah Harper turned at the sound of the familiar voice,
her green eyes widening behind her mask. “Shiloh, darling,” she said, smiling.

He cradled her to his chest and kissed her cheek. “You look beautiful.” Acknowledging her date for the evening, Shiloh extended his right hand. “Augustine.”

The older man shook his hand, his lips twisting into a cynical smile. “Shiloh.”

Augustine Leblanc, aware that Shiloh didn't approve of his intentions toward his widowed mother, had decided incurring the younger man's wrath was worth the risk to convince Moriah to attend the fund-raiser with him.

Shiloh released Augustine's hand, but did not drop his hostile glare.
The son of a bitch is taunting me,
he thought. His other arm tightened around Gwen's waist, the warmth of her body burning his fingers through her dress. Within seconds Shiloh had dismissed Augustine in his mind.

“Mama, I'd like for you to meet Miss Gwendolyn Taylor. Gwen, my mother, Moriah Harper.”

Gwen moved away from Shiloh before she did something she would regret later. She wanted to kick him for putting her on the spot, because this was the first time she'd ever met a man's mother on their first date.

Recovering quickly, she offered her hand. “It's nice meeting you, Mrs. Harper.”

Moriah shook the hand of the petite woman with a lush, curvy body. She'd tried imagining what Gwendolyn Taylor would look like, and had failed miserably.

“It's my pleasure, Gwendolyn. And please call me Moriah.”

Gwen liked Moriah immediately. She was friendly and unpretentious. “I'll call you Moriah only if you call me Gwen.”

Moriah's rose-colored lips parted in a warm smile. “Then Gwen it is.” She looped an arm through Augustine's. “This is my friend, Augustine Leblanc.”

The older man nodded to Gwen. “Miss Taylor, you don't sound as if you're from down here.”

The instant she opened her mouth everyone knew she was an outsider. “That's because I'm not from down here.”

Moriah fanned her moist face. “Where are you from, Gwen?”

“Boston.”

“Are you here on holiday?” Augustine asked.

Gwen noticed Augustine had said holiday instead of vacation. Shiloh had mentioned the region's isolation, so she assumed some European customs and vernacular still persisted more than two hundred and fifty years later.

“No, I'm not. I've just moved here.”

Moriah's expressive eyebrows lifted as she stared at Shiloh. “Where are you living now?”

“St. Martin Parish.”

“Where in the parish?” Augustine asked.

“Bon Temps.”

The masks covering the faces of Moriah and Augustine wouldn't permit Gwen to see their shocked expressions. Moriah recovered first. Her smile was dazzling. “Have you sampled any of our Cajun cuisine?” she asked, deftly changing the topic.

“I've had a poor boy—I mean a po'boy at the Outlaw.” The three shared a smile.

Moriah tapped her fan against her palm. “What about red beans and rice, peppers and grits or Creole shrimp and eggplant?”

“No, ma'am.”

Moriah flicked open the fan with a quick snap of her wrist. “That settles it. You must come for dinner next Sunday. You will bring Gwen when you come, won't you, Shiloh?”

He glared at his mother. “Why don't you wait for her to either accept or decline your invitation, Mama?”

Moriah ignored her son's reprimand, and smiled sweetly at Gwen. “Should I expect you, my dear?”

Gwen struggled to hide her confusion. What did Moriah expect her to say? No, I can't come? No, because her attempt at matchmaking is anything but subtle. No, because I don't need to spend any more time with your son than necessary. And no, no, no because Shiloh Harper wasn't a man she could date and relate to as a friend. Three pairs of eyes stared at her, the silence lengthening between them and making her uneasy.

“Yes,” she said after a pregnant pause.

Exhaling audibly, Moriah pressed her palms together. “Good. You will bring her, Shiloh, won't you?”

He rolled his eyes at Moriah. “Yes, Mother, I'll bring Gwen with me,” he said through clenched teeth. “Please excuse us, but we must circulate.”

Shiloh shouldered his way through the crowd filling up the ballroom. He reached for a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and handed it to Gwen before he took one for himself.

She rested a hand on his sleeve. “You don't have to take me to your mother's.”

He frowned at her. “Why not?”

“I can go alone.”

His frown vanished. “You think my mother coerced me into agreeing to bring you?”

“Well, she did put you on the spot.”

“No, she didn't.”

“She's playing matchmaker, Shiloh.”

“Moriah's being Moriah.”

“What's that suppose to mean?”

“You'll find out after spending a couple of hours with her.” He touched his flute to Gwen's and took a sip. The champagne was excellent.

Gwen moved closer to Shiloh. “Why are you being so evasive?”

A sensual smile softened his mouth. “Why are you so suspicious, darling? What you see is what you get.”

“And I happen to like what I see, darling,” crooned a sultry feminine voice.

Gwen turned to find a masked woman cradled in an embrace with a man who, although masked, reminded her of Shiloh. They shared the same hair texture, jawline and chin. He was an inch or two taller, his body larger, bulkier.

“Your woman is shameless, little brother.”

Ian Harper dropped a kiss on his wife's braided head. “I wouldn't have her any other way. Well, big brother, have you forgotten your manners? Aren't you going to introduce us to your lady?”

Shiloh glanced down at Gwen and found her staring up at him. “Gwen, this masked man is my younger brother Ian, who also happens to own the Outlaw. And the beautiful woman with him is my sister-in-law Natalee. Ian, Natalee, Gwendolyn Taylor.”

Gwen shook hands with Ian, then Natalee Harper. When she'd asked Shiloh about a Mrs. Harper, he'd confirmed there were only two. Moriah was the first, and she'd just met the second one. Natalee, a statuesque beauty with flawless mahogany-brown skin, was stunning in a black-and-red silk cheongsam. Her neatly braided hair was secured in a chignon on the nape of her long, slender neck.

“Your jewelry is exquisite, Gwen.”

Gwen rested a hand over the blood-red stone resting in the valley of her breasts. “Thank you.”

Shiloh listened to the exchange between Natalee and his date. Gwen's jewelry was exquisite, but he'd found her more ravishing than the world's most expensive bauble.
She claimed a natural lush beauty that literally took his breath away.

Natalee's gaze narrowed. “Do I detect a slight New England accent?”

“Boston,” Gwen confirmed.

Natalee's vermilion-colored lips parted as she displayed her perfectly aligned white teeth. “I'm from Worcester. How long will you be staying in Acadiana?”

“I hope for a long time,” she answered, smiling. “I'm now living at
Bon Temps.
”

Natalee shook her finger at Shiloh. “I've got a bone to pick with you, brother love. You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend, and one who happens to be a homegirl.”

Gwen's attempt to explain she wasn't Shiloh's girlfriend was preempted by a deep voice coming through speakers. “Gentlemen, please seat yo' ladies. And will the officers of the Bayou Policemen's Benevolent Association please take their seats on the dais.”

“If you're not doing anything tomorrow, I'd love for us to have a girls' night out,” Natalee said as Ian took her hand.

“What time do you want to get together?” Gwen asked, not seeing Shiloh's frown.

“I'll come and pick you up around eight,” Natalee offered.

Gwen smiled at her. “Okay.”

Shiloh curved an arm around Gwen's waist, directing her to a table positioned directly in front of the dais. His fast-talking sister-in-law had thwarted his plan to introduce Gwen to Cajun and zydeco music. He pulled out a chair and seated her. Leaning over, he splayed his fingers over her back. “Don't run away, Cinderella.”

She stared at the luminous eyes that had darkened to a mossy green. Her eyelids fluttered as she inhaled the intoxicating fragrance of his cologne warmed by his body's natural scent.

Gwen felt a vaguely sensuous light pass between them that filled her whole being with a wanting so foreign it frightened her. She wasn't a novice when it came to men, but there was something about Shiloh Harper that made her feel like a virgin about to embark on a journey that would transport her from innocent to wanton within seconds if she were to lie with him.

“I can't run,” she whispered.

His eyes widened. “And I don't want you to.”

“Sheriff Harper, we all waitin' for ya,” the voice boomed again.

Heads turned in their direction, while hundreds of pairs of eyes watched St. Martin Parish's sheriff straighten slowly and make his way to the dais. He sat, staring boldly and longingly at the woman whose beauty and vitality drew her to him like a powerful magnet.

Gwen hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until she pulled her gaze away from the man who'd come out of the night to calm her fear of the unknown.

She, Gwendolyn Taylor, purportedly a strong, independent black woman, found herself falling for a lawman in a region of the United States where counties were parishes, where the number and differing species of wildlife outnumbered the residents, and where the racial and ethnic mix was as varied as the cuisine imbued with a distinctive flavor summed up in the phrase,
Laissez les bon temps rouler!

Was she, or could she let go of her inflexible rules and regulations to let her good times roll?

She stole another glance at Shiloh who'd leaned closer to the man on his left to listen to what he was saying. Without warning, his gaze shifted and he stared at her. A knowing smile softened his mouth, and she returned his smile.

Yes, you can,
the silent voice in her head taunted seductively.

Within seconds, conservative, sensible and levelheaded
Gwendolyn Paulette Taylor decided to discard the resolutions she'd set down for herself four years before.

She was ready for Shiloh Harper, and ready to let
her
own good times roll!