Ross nodded and turned to open the front door. “Right, it may come down to draping her in a sheet, but I’ll find something.”
Gideon smiled at Serena as he followed Ross into the house and flipped on the light in the foyer. “I believe we can avoid using the sheet, but I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with one of my shirts. I don’t think we can find a nightgown for you.”
She frowned. “But why would I need a nightgown?” She touched the sleek satin of her bodice. “I’m wearing a nightgown.” Then emotion flared behind the vagueness of her eyes, raw and hurting emotion that threatened to burn away the comforting veil of forgetfulness.
Gideon silently cursed his lack of luck in making the seemingly innocent remark. He said quickly, “I just thought you might want to change after you shower. Are you hungry? Maybe it would be a good idea if we found something for you to eat too.” He took her elbow and gently propelled her down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen. The pain was fading from her expression and she was casually petting Frank’s head as he trailed beside her down the hallway. “I’m not much of a gourmet cook, but I can whip up an omelet. Do you cook?”
She shook her head. “The sisters at the convent were always more interested in feeding our souls than our bodies.” Her lips curved in a tiny smile. “Sister Maria said we thought far too much about the worldly pleasures.”
A convent! “I wouldn’t call eating a particularly worldly pleasure.”
“You aren’t Sister Maria.”
“For which I’m profoundly grateful. I’m far too irreverent to fit into a religious community.”
“I wasn’t very comfortable there either.” Her smile widened to breathtaking beauty. “I was always getting into trouble. I always laughed too much. In chapel and vespers and at—”
“Good.” His hand tightened on her elbow. “I like a woman who laughs. The world doesn’t have enough laughter to go around.” He pushed opened the door to the kitchen and flicked on the ceiling light. “Now suppose you and Frank go sit over there at the table and watch me prepare the most splendiferous omelet you’ve ever tasted.”
She smiled again and he felt his breath stop in his throat. What was going on here? One minute he felt only aching sympathy and the next he was ready to pull the girl into the nearest bedroom. She was the walking wounded, for heaven’s sake. He turned away and opened a cabinet above the stove. “And you can tell me more about Sister Maria’s definition of sin.”
Serena finished the last bite of omelet and set her fork down on her plate. She had been very hungry, she realized with dull surprise. She tried to remember the last time she had eaten. It had been this morning at dawn. She had shared warm croissants and strong black coffee with— She shied away from the memory with a sense of panic. The Hopi Indians. No past and no future. Only now. Now was safe and free from pain. Gideon had told her this was true, and in a shifting world of lies, his words were the only honest, solid anchor to which she could cling.
“Maybe I’m not such a bad cook after all. You managed to clean up your plate anyway.” He pushed back his chair and stood up. “I’ll get you something to drink. I should probably give milk to someone as young as you, but I hate the stuff and never keep it in the house. How about some orange juice?” He crossed the room to the refrigerator on the far side of the kitchen. “It’s the only nonalcoholic beverage I have.”
“That will be fine.” She watched the slide of muscles beneath his khaki shirt as he opened the refrigerator door. He was tall, over six feet, and every inch was lean and powerful. She suddenly had a hazy recollection of how those muscles had exploded into lethal, totally devastating force tonight in the bar. She couldn’t seem to connect the memory with the man who had held her with almost feminine tenderness in the jeep, or the master Frank was gazing up at with such hopeful adoration. Surely no one could look less threatening. He was dressed in faded jeans that hung low on his lean hips and a short-sleeved khaki shirt, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the strong line of his tan throat. He was wearing brown cowboy boots, scuffed and weathered by the elements. Weathered was the word that described more about him than his boots. He looked totally experienced, as if he had gone through all the storms and droughts life could offer and had emerged not broken, only seasoned and tougher.
His skin was tanned by sun and wind to a deep bronze and laugh lines radiated from the corners of his brown eyes. His hair might have been a dark brown at one time but now it was sun-streaked, tawny, slightly tousled with … a cowlick. She smiled when she noticed that unruly lock of hair. No, she must have been mistaken about the lethal side of Gideon Brandt she thought she’d glimpsed in the bar. Who could be afraid of a man with a cowlick? “I’m not really that young. I’m seventeen.”
“So old? I’ve got ten years on you.” He poured the juice into a tall glass and looked up to smile at her. Dimples. Deep slashing dimples indented his lean cheeks. The shape of his face was almost square, his features more rugged than handsome and his smile the warmest she had ever seen. She suddenly felt as if she had been enfolded in a magical fleecy blanket, gossamer light yet capable of generating sunlight and tenderness and … His gaze held her own as he walked toward her with lithe, vital grace. “You look younger.”
“Do I?” She didn’t feel young. She felt a million years old and suddenly so weary she had to keep her spine very straight to keep from falling off the chair.
He nodded and there was a flicker of understanding in his face, almost as if he had read her thoughts. “You’ll feel young again, you know,” he said gently. “Maybe you’ll never be a child again, that’s probably gone forever, but youth remains. Sometimes we have to work to keep it alive in us, but it’s important we never lose a sense of youth and joy.” He grinned and the creases deepened around his eyes and in the long dimples on each side of his mouth. “Personally, I intend to still be a kid when I am a hundred and two.”
“I think you’ll make it,” she said softly.
“I’m sure I will.” He set the glass of orange juice down in front of her. “And so will you. Now, drink. You’ll need your vitamins if you want to survive and stay healthy.” His gaze met hers. “And you do want to survive. Life can be damn good, and you can solve any problem if you just face up to it.” He reached down and patted the dog’s head. “Ask Frank here. He’s a prime example.”
“He had help.”
“So will you, if you’ll accept it.” Gideon carefully kept his gaze on the dog’s mottled fur. “And he probably didn’t have any help when he lost that leg. He survived it all by himself and still didn’t lose the capacity to care. Toughen up, but keep the loving. It’s important, Serena.” He straightened. “Now I’d better stop this preaching and feed this particular survivor. He’s been giving me a guilt trip ever since I started cooking your omelet.”
“I noticed.” Serena took a drink of the orange juice. “I also noticed you gave him half of that pound of bacon you sprinkled on my omelette.”
He made a face. “So I’m a sucker.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you for two years.” Ross stood in the doorway. He strolled forward, a grin lighting his plain features. “Do you know why I had to put Frank’s bowl and food out on the patio, Serena? The first two days after we brought him home, he gained five pounds and we each lost three.”
Serena laughed. In spite of Ross’s caustic tone, it was clear the bond of affection between the two men was very strong. Strange. They appeared to be complete opposites, both in physique and personality. Ross was a few inches under six feet and built with blocky muscularity and deep-chested strength. He was closer to forty than thirty, and his dark hair was flecked with silver. The blue eyes looking into her own were shrewd, and she had an idea the affectionate smile softening his face as he regarded Gideon could turn cynical in the flicker of a second.
Ross turned to her. “Your chamber awaits. It’s the first guest room at the top of the stairs.”
“She has to finish her orange juice
first,” Gideon said. “Stay with her while I take Frank out and feed him. Did you light the hot water heater?”
Ross nodded and explained to Serena. “The gas heater is an antique and the pilot light keeps going out on us.” His lips twisted. “Another thing we’re going to get fixed.” He waved his hand. “Go on and feed the bottomless pit. I’ll watch over your other … over Serena.”
Stray. He had been about to call her a stray, Serena thought. The realization brought no resentment. Rather it filled her with a comfortable sense of security to be referred to as belonging in any way to Gideon Brandt. He obviously showered those he took under his wing with warmth and love and she desperately needed that security to help fight off the darkness surrounding her.
She watched Gideon leave the kitchen, the big dog skittering unevenly at his heels. “He’s so kind,” she said huskily. “Have you known him long?”
“A few years. We met in Tucson and took to each other right away. We’ve been together ever since.” He sat down and nodded to the glass in her hand. “You’d better finish that. He won’t let you go to sleep until you drink it down.”
She laughed uncertainly. “You have to be joking. Gideon wouldn’t force me to drink something I didn’t want.”
“He won’t ever force you, but you’ll find yourself doing what he wants anyway.” He shrugged. “It’s easier just to do what he tells you in the beginning.”
She took another swallow of orange juice. “I think you’re mistaken. He’s too gentle to—”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t gentle,” Ross interrupted briskly. “He’s one hell of a human being and the best friend I’ve ever had. I’m just saying there’s another aspect to his character that’s equally strong.”
She frowned. “And what is that?”
“When he makes up his mind, he’s completely relentless. He never stops. Not ever. He might feel compassion, but it doesn’t sway him. He never quits until he has what he wants.”
She shook her head in disbelief.
“Yes,” Ross said flatly. “It’s something you should know, because I don’t think Gideon has quite made up his mind about you yet. He’s chewing it over and trying to come to a conclusion. Once he does, there’s no way out. Gideon will be as much a prisoner of his determination as you, and probably more vulnerable. Something has knocked you for a loop and I’m sorry, but my first loyalty is to Gideon.”
“You act as if you think I’m going to try to hurt him,” she whispered. “How could I … I would never do anything to hurt anyone.” There was too much pain in the world and not enough laughter. Gideon had said something like that, she remembered vaguely. He had said a great many things tonight. All with a touch as light as a summer breeze, with an underlying salve that had healed before she had even realized any balm had been applied.
“I just thought I’d drop in a savvy word or two. No offense?” Ross smiled. “Gideon would have a fit if he thought I’d upset you. Don’t worry, he’ll see to it that you’re well taken care of.”
She smiled back at him. “Like his other ‘strays’?”
He grimaced. “You caught that? I was hoping I’d covered myself in time. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“You didn’t.” She took another sip of orange juice. “How many strays does Gideon have here?”
“On the premises? Just one cat and a blind parrot. He usually tries to find homes for them before they become too attached to him. He moves around a lot and he doesn’t think it’s fair to leave them alone.” He stood up. “Now, drink the rest of that down and I’ll take you to your room.”
The tall glass was still a quarter full. She deliberately pushed the glass away. “I’ve had enough.” She scooted back her chair and rose to her feet. “I’m ready to go.”
“Are you?” A curious smile touched his lips as his gaze rested on the glass. “Some people just have to learn for themselves.” He turned away. “I found a clean shirt of Gideon’s for you to wear tonight and I put a pair of my shorts and a T-shirt on the chair in your room for you to wear tomorrow. They’ll be a little big, but I’m smaller than Gideon.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”
“No trouble. These little adventures are what make living with Gideon interesting.”
A glass of orange juice was on the white rattan nightstand beside the double bed when she came into the bedroom after her shower thirty minutes later. The glass was exactly one quarter full.
Gideon was lounging in the cane-backed chair by the window, one leg over the arm, a booted foot swinging lazily. “Hi, you look better in that shirt than I do. It kinda reminds me of those ads on TV where they have all those luscious ladies wearing their men’s dress shirts.”
“Does it? I’ve never seen them. They didn’t have a television set at the convent.” She touched the soft blue cotton of the shirt that came almost to her knees. “Thank you for lending it to me. It’s very comfortable.”
“We aim to please.” He swung his foot to the floor and stood up. He exuded so much power and vitality that Serena suddenly felt very small and helpless.
“I’m glad you didn’t wash your hair. It must take a long time to dry and I was worried you’d go to bed with it wet.” He crossed the room and drew back the top sheet. “In you go. I’ll tuck you in and turn out the light.”
She found herself obediently sliding into bed. He drew the sheet up around her shoulders and sat down beside her. “I’ve left the windows open. The screens will keep out the critters and it will be cooler for you. If it starts to rain, you’d better get up and close it.” His gaze was gravely holding her own while his hand stroked the hair back from her temple. “You’ve done just fine so far, but I thought I’d better warn you that sometimes it comes back to you right before you go to sleep. It sort of waits like a bushwhacker until all your defenses are down and then it ambushes you.” He smiled. “You just fool it and start thinking of something else. Frank or Ross or me … anything. Okay?”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“And, if you get scared or want company, I’m just across the hall. I’ll leave my door open to hear if you call out.”
“Thank you.” His hand on her temple held mesmerizing gentleness and his expression was … beautiful. “Gideon, I.…” She trailed off as she felt the tears burn behind her lids. “Just thank you. For everything.”
“For nothing.” His grin lit up his rough features with warmth. “All I did was cook you an omelet and lend you my shirt.” He touched the tip of her nose with his index finger. “Go to sleep now and remember my very wise Hopi friends.” He leaned forward and brushed her forehead with his lips as if she were a small child, his child. “Sleep tight.”
“You too.”
“I always sleep well.” He rose and looked down at her. “You just have to remember to watch out for those ambushes.”
“You have them, too?”
“We all have them.” He smiled again. “You’re not alone, Serena.” His gaze suddenly fell on the glass on the nightstand. “You forgot to drink your orange juice, so I emptied it out and brought you some fresh. Just what you need for a nightcap.” He sat down again, picked up the glass and gathered her up into the curve of his arm. “Bottoms up.”
“No, I don’t—”
“Shh.” His voice was velvet soft and coaxing. “You need it.” He smiled that smile that enfolded her in sunlight and caring. “Come on, there’s just a little in the glass and I want to feel I’ve done my duty to appease the gods of nutrition. I didn’t have any milk to give you. You wouldn’t want to make me feel bad, would you?”
Who would ever want Gideon Brandt to know sadness or discomfort? He was everything that was caring and loving, and so dear she could feel her throat tighten with emotion as she looked up at him. What difference did it make if she didn’t want the orange juice? It wouldn’t hurt her. She opened her lips and finished off the juice in a few swallows. As he took the glass away, she wrinkled her nose at him. “Sati
sfied?”
He nodded as he set the empty glass on the nightstand and laid her back against the pillows. “For now. You’ve been a very sensible girl.” He stood up and flicked off the lamp. She could see his shadow move across the room to the door. “Now watch out for those bushwhackers and get to sleep.” He paused at the door. She couldn’t see his face but she didn’t need to see it. It was all there in his quiet voice. “I’m here for you, Serena. Always.”
A moment later, he was gone, leaving the door ajar.
He heard the swift patter of her feet on the tiles and knew she was coming to him.
He had been lying awake, thinking and listening to the thunder and the rain beating against the tile roof. He had always liked rain. There had been precious little of it in the desert country where he had grown up and, when it did come, it was like a blessing on the parched land.
“Gideon?” Serena’s voice was shaky and uncertain. She was standing in the doorway.
“I’m awake. Bushwhackers?”
“I did what you told me and went to sleep, but the thunder woke me and—”
“Ambush,” he finished for her. He sat up in bed. “Bad luck. I hoped you’d get a good night’s sleep. Come here.”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to bother you. I only thought …” She stopped. “I don’t know what I thought.”
“You thought you’d come see your friend and together we’d blow those bushwhackers to kingdom come.” He chuckled. “Now come over here and we’ll get down to it.”
She came slowly to him. “Shall I turn on the light?”
“Not unless you want to. Sometimes darkness is better. You might toss me that robe on the chair. I’m naked as a jaybird and I don’t want to shock your convent sensibilities.” He stood up and shrugged into the white terry cloth robe she handed him. “There. Now come to bed and snuggle.” He drew back the sheet, pushed Serena down on the bed and then lay beside her, pulling her into his arms. She smelled clean and sweet and felt wonderfully right in his arms. As he tightened his clasp about her he realized she was trembling. He had thought she would be when he had heard her voice. She wouldn’t have come to him if the pain of suppressing those memories hadn’t been impossible to bear alone. He experienced a sudden aching regret as he realized what that meant. It was time.