A Time to Keep (6 page)

The beginnings of a smile touched Shiloh's mouth. “I think you protest too much.”

“I'm not as anal as I am focused.”

He lowered his hand without taking his gaze off the face of the woman sharing his table. He liked Gwen—her face, softly curving body, quick mind and witty repartee.

“What are you focused on now?”

“Fixing up my new home.”

“And after that?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know?” he repeated. “What about a job?”

Gwen's body stiffened in shock that caused the words to wedge in her throat. “Are you interrogating me, Sheriff Harper?” she asked, recovering her voice.

“Of course not, Miss Gwendolyn Paulette Taylor.”

A wave of heat swept up from her chest to her cheeks. “There's no need to call me by my government name,” she said, frowning.

Shiloh threw back his head, laughing loudly, as everyone in the restaurant turned in his direction. Most couldn't remember the last time they'd heard Shiloh Harper laugh aloud. It was before his divorce and before Sheriff Virgil Harper died in the line of duty. Suddenly aware that he'd attracted attention, he glared at those staring at him and Gwen. One by one they turned away and went back to whatever it was they were discussing.

Gwen took another bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. Even if she didn't tell Shiloh of her plans, there was no doubt he would soon find out.

“I'm a journalist.”

His sober expression did not change. “Radio, television, or print?”

“Print.”

“Perhaps Nash McGraw could use you. He's the editor-in-chief of the
Teche Tribune,
and lately he's been putting out the paper using a skeleton staff.”

“Is it a weekly?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“If you run into him, please let him know that I'm interested in something part-time.”

A hint of a smile crinkled the skin around Shiloh's eyes. “What else are you interested in?”

A shiver of annoyance raced up her spine and she had to admit that the man sitting across from her was good. He'd befriended her the night before and now had offered her his lunch while subtly interrogating her. She was a new resident, and he was probably intrigued that a single woman from Boston would relocate and take possession of a house sight unseen.

He'd retrieved all of her vital data when he entered her driver's license in a national DMV database, so if he wanted to check further into her background he could. Did he suspect she'd come to the Louisiana bayou to hide out, or establish a cover for a criminal operation? What the delicious-looking law enforcement officer didn't know was that she'd come to St. Martin Parish to start over. She wanted to restore
Bon Temps
to its original magnificence, work for a local newspaper, and if the latter did not materialize, then she would execute her Plan B. She would then apply for a teaching position at a local high school or college.

Shrugging a bare shoulder, she smiled at Shiloh through her lashes. “Not much else.” She opened her handbag, took out a twenty and placed it on the table. “That should cover my lunch.”

Shiloh's hand moved in a blur as he scooped up the bill and thrust it at her. “Keep your money. Lunch is on me.”

Gwen glared at him glaring at her. “I'm sorry, Sheriff Harper, but I can't accept.”

“Why not, Gwendolyn Paulette Taylor?”

A frown appeared between her eyes. “Stop calling me that.”

“It's your name, isn't it?”

“Yes,” she whispered loudly. “But there's no need to tell everyone who I am. I'm certain you're aware of identity theft nowadays. All someone needs is my social security number and I'm screwed.”

Shiloh angled his head, and the sunlight coming in from a clerestory window slanted over his face, bathing him in a circle of light. The effect was so startling that Gwen didn't blink, swallow or breathe. The mesmerizing gold-green eyes were the colors of the swamp with slivers of sunlight piercing the towering cypress trees rising above the murky brown water.

“What are you running from?”

She blinked once. “Is that what you believe?”

He nodded. “Either you are running or hiding.”

“Wrong, Shiloh. I'm doing neither. Four years ago I made a New Year's resolution to get rid of everything I didn't want or need. And when my aunt left me
Bon Temps
I decided it was time for a change of scenery. I'm here because I want to be here, not because I'm hiding or running from someone.”

Standing, Shiloh came around the table, picked up the money and dropped it into her unzipped handbag. “Lunch is on me today. Once you're settled in you can repay the favor.”

That said, he nodded and walked across the expansive restaurant. He knocked on a door with Office painted in large black letters. He opened it, walked in and closed the door, leaving Gwen staring at the space where he'd been.

She didn't know his connection with the owner of the Outlaw and didn't want to know. Gathering her handbag, she stood up and made her way to the entrance. The conversations stopped again as all eyes were trained on her. It was the first time in a very long time that she felt self-conscious. As a
teenage girl she was always mindful whether her pants or tops were too tight whenever boys made ribald comments about her body. But as her body matured she'd learned to accept her looks and who she'd become.

Why, she asked herself as she stepped out into the bright sunlight, did she suddenly feel like an awkward teen who wanted to run home and change her clothes? It wasn't the first time men had stared at her in a pair of body-hugging jeans. However, it
was
the first time that a group of men had stopped talking to stare at her.

What made the men in southern Louisiana different from those in New England, other than they spoke a French dialect as well as English?

The questions bombarded Gwen's mind as she waited for the ferryboat. Was it because she was a stranger? Was it because the Outlaw was traditionally a male establishment? Or was it because Shiloh had called her darling in front of other patrons?

Moving over to a wooden bench positioned under a sun-bleached striped canvas awning, she sat and stared out at the slow-moving water. Instead of the uneasiness she'd experienced when seeing the murky swamp for the first time, she felt a wave of calm wash over her. It was as if she'd escaped into a world where the stress and craziness of what she was familiar with no longer existed.

Time moved on in a pace that could not be measured by seconds, minutes or hours. The sound of the approaching ferryboat shattered the stillness of the afternoon. Gwen stood up and walked down to the pier. It was time she returned to the boardinghouse, checked out and went home.

She knew that dust, grime and the musty smell associated with long-shuttered houses awaited her. But she welcomed the challenge. She couldn't wait to begin
Bon Temps
' makeover.

G
wen worked nonstop around the clock, averaging five hours of sleep each night in order to make
Bon Temps
habitable. She knew she should've hired a cleaning company, but considered the housework she'd done therapy. She didn't have an office to go to, so airing, dusting, mopping floors and cleaning windows gave her a sense of purpose.

It took half a day to air out and clean the bedroom, sitting room and adjoining bath that she'd selected for herself. A search of the pantry yielded a large tin filled with exotic teas, and as dusk descended she'd sat on a cushioned love seat on the second-story veranda watching a cluster of fireflies illuminate the velvety darkness while listening to the unfamiliar nocturnal sounds.

The rest of the week was spent cleaning the other bedrooms, the kitchen and shopping in an upscale mall in Morgan City, twenty miles southeast of Franklin. It was the first time she
chided herself for not having purchased a sport utility vehicle, considering how her trunk and the inside of her car now over-flowed with grocery bags and other household items.

A moving company delivered cartons filled with her clothes, favorite books, electronic equipment, CDs, DVDs, her computer, photographs and family mementoes. And once a telephone technician installed the data lines she needed for a telephone, computer modem, and fax machine, she finally felt in control of her life. Aside from her cell phone she'd felt cut off from her family and friends.

Sitting at her computer, she opened a new document: Bon Temps Restorations. She wanted to replace the wallpaper throughout the house, reupholster sofas and chairs, repair and hang the magnificent living room and ballroom chandeliers, and repair the plasterwork on the ceilings. All of the wood floors and tables in the rooms on the first story were in need of refinishing. Bedroom closets overflowed with colorful dresses and costumes, suggesting that Gwendolyn Pickering had not led a reclusive lifestyle. The task of emptying the many closets still awaited her, a project she planned to tackle at her leisure.

The telephone rang, shattering her concentration. Peering at the display, she saw the name of her late aunt's attorney. She'd called his office in New Orleans, as he'd suggested during their last conversation, with her new number. Picking up the receiver, she introduced herself.

“Gwendolyn Taylor.”

“Afternoon, Miss Taylor. Billy Sykes here.”

She smiled. He'd referred to himself as Billy whereas stuffy Boston lawyers would've been Mr. Sykes. “Please call me Gwen.”

A chuckle came through the earpiece. “I was hoping you'd allow me that honor. I suppose you're settlin' in all right.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good. I'd love to come down and sit a while with you, but right now I'm up to my eyeballs in a case that's sure to get a lot of media coverage. I just wanted to tell you that your aunt left a package with me about seven months before she passed away, and I'm going to send it to you by a bonded messenger.”

“What's in it?”

He chuckled softly. “You'll see when you get it. He should get it to you by Thursday.”

Her curiosity piqued, Gwen wondered how much Billy knew about Gwendolyn Pickering. She hadn't had much contact with her mother's favorite aunt. Gwendolyn, as she wanted to be called, traveled from Louisiana every five years to reconnect with relatives in Delaware, Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. She refused to vary her schedule, not even for a funeral. The year she celebrated her sixty-fifth birthday the visits, telephone calls, cards and letters—always without a return address—stopped. Everyone suspected she'd passed away until William Sykes called to inform Gwen that her great-aunt had left all of her worldly possessions to her namesake.

“How well did you know my aunt?”

“I didn't know her as well as my daddy did. But, he can't tell you anything because the Lord called him home last year. All I can tell you is that she didn't want me to contact you until after she'd been cremated.”

“I'm glad she could trust you to follow her wishes, and I look forward to receiving the package.”

“All I can say is Gwendolyn Pickering was quite a woman.”

“Thank you, Billy, for everything, and if you're ever in the neighborhood, please come by.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Goodbye, Billy.”

“'Bye, Gwen.”

She hung up, wondering what else her aunt wanted her to
have. Her gaze shifted back to the blinking cursor on the computer screen. Her fingers touched the letters on the keyboard with lightning speed as the list lengthened. She'd just saved what she'd typed when the melodious chiming of the doorbell echoed throughout the house.

Walking out of the sun-filled room she'd set up as her office, she went to answer the door. It was probably the head of the landscaping crew who'd come earlier that morning to cut and weed the grass, and prune the fruit trees and flower beds. The aroma of freshly turned earth, cut grass and flowering blooms wafted through the many screened-in windows.

Peering through the security eye, she saw the face of a young man in a tan uniform. He wore the same hat she'd seen on Shiloh the night he'd answered her nine-one-one call.

She opened the door. The star on the man's shirt identified him as a deputy. “Good afternoon. Is there a problem, Deputy Lincoln?” she asked, reading his name badge.

Frank Lincoln removed his hat, cradling it to his chest. The sunlight glinted off his thick orange-red hair. “Good afternoon, Miss Taylor. I just came by to give you something from Sheriff Harper.” He reached into the pocket of his shirt and handed her an envelope. “He said he'll come by later to talk to you about it.”

Gwen took the envelope. She smiled at the deputy. “Please let Sheriff Harper I know I'll be expecting him.”

Frank put back on his hat, grinning broadly. He'd recognized Gwendolyn Taylor as the woman who'd sat in the unmarked SUV with his boss. “You have a good day, Miss Taylor.”

She returned his friendly smile. “Same to you, Deputy.”

Gwen waited until he slipped behind the wheel of his cruiser and drove away before tapping the envelope against her palm and ripping off a corner. Opening the envelope she shook out two tickets. PAID, stamped in red, covered the face
of the tickets for a fund-raiser given by the Bayou Policemen's Benevolent Association for Needy Families.

She closed the door to keep out the sultry heat, smiling. She'd been so engrossed with cleaning
Bon Temps
that she'd forgotten her commitment to purchase two tickets for the fund-raiser.

Sitting on a formal high-back chair in the entryway, Gwen placed the envelope and tickets on a mahogany table. Fatigue washed over her and she closed her eyes. It wasn't until she sat down that she became aware of how hard she'd worked, pushing herself to the point of exhaustion.

A knowing smile softened her mouth. She'd told Shiloh she was disciplined, focused, but he had countered, saying she was anal. He was right, but that was something she wouldn't readily admit.