A Time to Keep (18 page)

Shiloh took a deep breath. “It's not what you think.”

“Don't presume to tell me what I think, Shiloh. Please go home and leave me alone.” Her tone had softened considerably.

“I can't do that, Gwen.”

Resting her forearms on the railing, Gwen stared down at the shadowy figure of the man with whom she had fallen in love. “And why not?”

“I've seen too much death tonight and I need to hold on to someone warm, alive.”

Time stood still, Gwen's heart beating a double-time rhythm. He had come to her not because he wanted her, but because he needed her.

She backed off the veranda, closed the doors, and unmindful of her revealing eyelet-laced cotton nightgown and bare feet, raced out of the bedroom, down the hallway and staircase to the front door. It took two attempts before she was able to unlock it. Within seconds she found herself in Shiloh's arms, her body pressed intimately to his.

“My baby. My sweet, sweet darling,” he crooned, brushing feathery kisses over her parted lips.

Anchoring her arms under his shoulders, Gwen leaned into
the contours of his hard, solid body. He was stiff, brittle enough to break into thousands of tiny pieces.

“I'm here, Shiloh. I am here, darling.”

Shiloh tightened his hold on Gwen's waist, lifting her off her feet, and taking possession of her mouth like a man under a spell. Touching her, tasting her, replaced the horrific images of burned and broken bodies and a newborn's weak cry; he'd delivered the premature infant as its mother lay dying from the burns that had covered most of her body. It had taken only minutes for a teenage driver to wipe out a family of four.

Gwen, ensnared in her own spell of drugging desire pulling her into a netherworld of strange and disturbing sensations, knew she was in love with the man whose arms held her. During moments of reality and complete lucidity she was forced to accept what she wanted to deny.

She'd told herself that she didn't want or need a man to make her a complete woman, that she had other projects to see to their conclusion before she sought out a life partner, and that she could continue to sleep alone while ignoring the strong urges within her.

Her hands moved down his back. The fingers of her right hand touched his forearm, and she went completely still. A gauze dressing covered Shiloh's left arm from elbow to wrist.

“What happened to you?” She was unable to keep the panic from her voice.

Shiloh glanced at his arm. “It's just a little burn.”

He'd lied. It was more than a little burn. He'd suffered second-degree burns to his arm when he attempted to get the pregnant woman out of the burning van before it exploded.

Reaching up, Gwen touched his cheek. The stubble of an emerging beard grazed her fingertips. It was the first time she'd found him other than clean-shaven.

He swayed, and she clasped both arms around his waist to
steady him. He was in uniform, but he wasn't carrying his gun. “Come to bed, Shiloh.” There was no doubt he was exhausted.

She closed and locked the door, then supporting his sagging body, led him up the staircase to the first bedroom at the top of the stairs. She touched a wall switch, and the room was flooded with soft light from two bedside lamps. His eyelids were drooping when Gwen steered Shiloh to a large brass bed. He sat down heavily, fell back to a mound of pillows, and closed his eyes.

“I just need to sleep.”

The lamps highlighted what Gwen did not see when they'd stood in the entryway. There were abrasions on Shiloh's forehead, left cheek, and his chin. She hadn't realized how much her hands were shaking until she tried to unbutton his shirt. She worked carefully, undoing all of the buttons and easing it gently off his shoulders and down his injured arm.

The antiseptic smell associated with hospitals clung to his hair and skin. Her touch was as impersonal as a medical professional as she removed his shoes, socks, slacks, and covered him with a sheet. What puzzled Gwen was that the official police uniform didn't fit Shiloh. The shirt was a size too small, and the matching pants too big in the waist.

“Don't leave me,” Shiloh slurred, not opening his eyes. “Please stay with me until I fall asleep. Just five minutes,” he said when she didn't move or answer. He opened his eyes and a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “Five minutes, baby.” The injection he'd been given at the hospital was beginning to take effect.

Smiling, Gwen leaned over and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “Five minutes,” she repeated. She turned off the lamps, pulled back the sheet, and got into bed with Shiloh. And with a pull as strong as the moon on the tide, she turned to face him.

Five minutes went by, ten, then fifteen, and she still hadn't moved. Pinpoints of light pierced the night sky with the rising sun, and Gwen lay motionless. She had fallen asleep, her breathing coming in concert with the man pressed intimately to her side.

* * *

Gwen walked into the kitchen with Cocoa at her heels. Picking up a remote device, she turned on a small television anchored under a cabinet. It wasn't until she woke to find the hard body in bed with her and glimpsed the scrapes on Shiloh's face and the startling white bandage on his arm that she remembered vividly what had happened only hours before.

She went through the laundry room and opened the rear door. “Outside, Miss Cocoa,” she said cheerfully. The puppy usually frolicked and rolled around in the grass until she tired. She then came back looking for food and water.

Gwen filled the puppy's water bowl from the sink in the laundry room, then spooned a small amount of food into another bowl. She returned to the kitchen and sat down on a tall stool. A newscaster mentioning Shiloh's name captured her rapt attention.

She stared at the small television screen, transfixed as a reporter recounted the details of an automobile accident that had claimed the lives of a man, his pregnant wife, and their four-year-old twin daughters. A split screen showed the grim face of a St. Martin Parish deputy sheriff and the chief of neonatal medicine at a Baton Rogue hospital.

Deputy James Jameson reported that Sheriff Harper, who was off-duty at the time, was the first officer on the scene. He'd risked his life to pull all of the occupants from the burning wreckage before the vehicle exploded.

The force of impact triggered an onset of labor for the mother who was expected to deliver her baby in seven weeks.
Sheriff Harper delivered a three-pound baby boy. EMTs had worked feverishly to save her life, but she succumbed to burns and massive head trauma. Mercifully her husband and daughters were killed instantly. The camera angle changed, focusing on the doctor who reported the baby's prognosis for survival was upgraded from grave to good. Pressing the power button on the remote, Gwen turned off the television.

I've seen too much death tonight, and I need to hold on to someone warm, alive.
His plea would be branded into her brain for an eternity.

The chiming of the doorbell broke into her thoughts. Who, she wondered as she slipped off the stool, had come to see her at seven in the morning? Gwen did not have long to ponder the question when she opened the door to find Moriah Harper pacing back and forth on the porch. Her short curly hair looked as if she'd combed it with her fingers.

The dark green eyes were filled with fear. “Jimmie Jameson called and told me that he dropped Shiloh off here. How is he?” The words tumbled from her trembling lips.

Gwen smiled, hoping to alleviate the older woman's anxiety. “He's upstairs sleeping. Why don't you go up and see him.”

Moriah curbed the urge to hug the woman who had bewitched her son. “Thank you.”

“I'm going to put up some coffee. Would you like a cup?” she asked Shiloh's mother.

Smiling for the first time since she'd gotten the call from the deputy sheriff, Moriah managed a smile. “Yes, thank you.”

Moriah took the staircase to the second floor. It had been years since she'd been inside
Bon Temps.
Gwendolyn Pickering had invited her and Virgil to celebrate his becoming the parish's first black sheriff. It was her first invitation, and over the next twenty years she and her husband were invited to many other soirees at Miss Pickering's home.

She found Shiloh asleep, his injured left arm resting on a pillow. Jimmie told her that he'd been sedated. Moving closer, Moriah saw the bruises on his face. Crossing her chest, she mumbled a silent prayer of thanks. Her son was safe.

She'd thought it odd that Shiloh would seek out Gwen Taylor instead of coming to her house. Moriah didn't know anything about Gwen Taylor, and hadn't sought to find out anything about her because she'd never been a mother who meddled in her grown sons' lives. All she ever wanted for Shiloh and Ian was for them to find happiness with a woman whom they'd chosen to share their lives and future.

But, on the other hand, she'd detected something in her former daughter-in-law Shiloh either did not or chose not to see: deceit. She walked out of the bedroom and made her way down the staircase to the kitchen. The tantalizing smell of brewing coffee filled the large space.

“Now, that smells wonderful.”

Gwen turned and smiled at Moriah. “Nothing smells better than breakfast.”

Moriah nodded. “I agree.”

“Will you stay and share breakfast with me?”

Attractive lines fanned out around Moriah's emerald-green eyes. “Of course.”

“I'll—” Whatever Gwen was going to say was preempted by the doorbell.

Gwen excused herself and went to answer the door. It had become a very busy Sunday morning at
Bon Temps.
Ian and Natalee Harper were her second visitors of the day.

“Where is he?” Ian asked without preamble.

Natalee rolled her eyes at her husband. “Good morning, Gwen. We're sorry to come without calling, but Moriah called and said that we would find Shiloh here.”

Gwen waved a hand, opening the door wider. “No need to
apologize. Come on in. Shiloh's in the first bedroom at the top of the stairs.”

Leaning over, Ian pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Sorry about that.”

Gwen offered him a shy smile. “Go see your brother.”

Ian raced across the living room, taking the stairs two at a time, while Natalee quickened her pace to catch up with him.

Gwen stood in the middle of the near-empty living room. Her home was filled with Harpers. Once they'd received the news that Shiloh was at
Bon Temps
they'd come. She returned to the kitchen to find Moriah opening overhead cabinets.

“What do you need?”

Flashing a smile that reminded Gwen of Shiloh's, Moriah said, “I wanted to set the table. I feel so useless standing around doing nothing. I tend to eat whenever I'm upset.”

Gwen wanted to tell Moriah that it was apparent she didn't get upset too often. Her slender body was remarkable for a woman her age. “The dishes are in the cabinet to your left. By the way, that was Ian and Natalee.”

“I'm surprised I made it here before Ian. He drives like a maniac.”

Moriah set the table while Gwen searched her refrigerator for breakfast foods. Ian and Natalee walked into the kitchen, holding hands.

“Brother love is awake and wants to see you, Gwen,” Natalee announced loudly.

“Go see him,” Moriah urged in a quiet voice. “Ian and I will take care of breakfast.”

Gwen smiled and shook her head. The Harpers had commandeered her kitchen. She winked at Ian. “I like my bacon well-done.”

“How about your eggs?” he asked.

“Any kind will do.”

“Hot damn, Yankee girl has Tabasco,” Ian drawled when he opened a cabinet filled with spices. “I can't get Natalee to touch the stuff.” He ignored his wife when she stuck out her tongue at him.

* * *

Gwen walked into the bedroom and smiled. Shiloh sat up, his back supported by several pillows. The bandage on his arm was a stark reminder of how close he'd come to losing his own life. Her gaze moved slowly over his stubbly jaw before dropping to his smooth, dark-brown chest. The power in his upper body was blatantly displayed with muscled shoulders, solid pectorals, and rock-hard abs.

Shiloh smiled and patted the mattress. “Please come sit next to me.”

She sat down and was swallowed up in a longing that made drawing a normal breath difficult. She leaned against his shoulder. “How are you?”

“Good,” he lied smoothly. He pressed his mouth to her hair. I'd like to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For the Harpers descending on you like a swarm of locusts.”

Tilting her chin, Gwen smiled at him. “They just needed to see for themselves that you're still in one piece.”

He closed his eyes. “I'm all right,” he lied again. His arm would heal, but it would take a lot longer to rid himself of the images he would probably carry to his grave.

Shiloh didn't know why he'd ordered Jimmie to take him to
Bon Temps
—not until now. Under another set of circumstances he would've gone to his mother's house. That may have been before he'd found himself enthralled by a woman who made him do things he didn't want to do, a woman who made him want her when he'd told himself he didn't need any woman. And not when he'd sworn an oath never to trust
another woman. But there was something about Gwendolyn Taylor that made him break every promise he'd made to himself. Something unspoken whispered to him that not only could he trust her, but he also wanted her to become a part of his life.

“Does it hurt much?”

He sighed softly. “It's bearable.”

“You didn't answer my question, Shiloh Harper.”

He glared at her, but she didn't drop her gaze. The curls framing her face gave her a doll-like appearance. Her large dark eyes, button nose, and lush curved mouth reminded him of the delicate dolls on display in store windows during the Christmas season.