Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series

by Mary Jane Hathaway

  “Father Gabriel prayed the rosary and Father Sal went to sleep so I was left to wonder what was happening in the party car.” He lifted a pitcher of sweet tea and started to pour a cup.

  “Well, Father Toussaint says I need to pick our wedding date soonish because he always takes a trip to Atlanta to see his sister in the spring and he doesn’t want to miss it.”

  Gideon poured tea all over the table cloth and spent the next few seconds scrambling to clean up the mess.

  “It’s okay. I told him we were going to live in sin. He said he’s driving back with you so he can set you straight,” Henry said.

  Gideon paused, a wad of damp napkins in one hand and the half-filled glass in the other. “Now you’re just being cruel.”

  “Better that you find out now and not after we’re married.” She scooped up some potato salad and let it drop onto her plate with a satisfying plop. “But if it makes you feel better, remember I still have Father Marcel and a working GPS app.”

  He took all the teasing in stride and she loved that about him. She loved everything about him.

  “Henry,” he said, looking down at the napkins in his hand. He shook his head, as if not sure what else to say.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not sending out any invitations,” she said, keeping her tone light. She refocused on her plate. “Father Andre asked me to bring him another biscuit so I’d better go sit down,”

  “Wait.” He dropped the napkins and touched her elbow. “It looks like it might rain, but if you’re willing, I thought maybe we could hike to the summit after we eat lunch.”

  “I’d love that,” she said.

  He glanced behind them. “I think most of them will want to hang out down here and take a rest but I’m pretty sure we can outrun them if we have to.”

  “I’ll be ready to bolt,” she said and turned away, her face warm. So he hadn’t ever called about their date, but hiking to the summit sounded promising. She hadn’t taken any big steps yet, but she was determined to start being herself. And being herself meant letting Gideon know exactly how she felt.

  ***

  The hike to the top wasn’t really a hike, in Gideon’s opinion. It was a leisurely walk and they didn’t break a sweat. The clear sky had clouded over and it looked as if it might rain at any moment but they didn’t turn back. Of course, after Henry had taken his hand he’d stopped wondering if they would get soaked and decided he didn’t care.

  The patter of rain drops on the leaves of the sheltering trees welcomed them as they stepped into the small clearing. A pyramid of stones marked the summit and a display case held a map, the glass streaked with rain. They took turns shielding the visitor’s book as they took it from the little wooden box and signed it.

  “It’s perfect here,” Henry said.

  He wanted to say he agreed, but was afraid he’d blurt something else, something about the way she looked in the rain, the way the drops clung to her lashes. He knew they should head back. Tom would be getting out the blankets and moving everyone to the picnic shelters to wait for their return. Henry pulled up the hood on her sweatshirt, but didn’t say anything about leaving.

  There was a bench next to the map but the metal already held small puddles of water. Gideon wiped it clean as best he could and sat down.

  “Come here.” He patted his knees. “I’ll suffer the indignity of a wet rear end and you can stay dry.”

  She slid a look toward him, one edge of her mouth tilting up. “My mama told me to watch out for boys like you.”

  “Your mama was right,” his voice dropped an octave, “but I am not a boy.”

  “Well, problem solved,” she said and gingerly perched on his knee. She wasn’t sitting. More hovering, barely making contact. “Am I crushing you?”

  Now that she was sitting on his lap, he couldn’t see her face very well, and he gently moved her hood back a bit. “No.”

  “I feel like I’m crushing you. You won’t have any circulation in this leg if I sit here very long. I should―”

  “Wait.” He lifted his left arm and laid it behind her, and she answered his movement by lifting her arm and laying it across his shoulders. He could smell her shampoo. Everything was silent except for the patter of the rain. She relaxed against his side and he had a sudden flash of winding the old grandfather clock when he was a kid. The first few times he’d tried to help, he reached out and grabbed clumsily, setting the weights and pulleys swinging, dull thuds and muted chimes echoing in the wooden cavity. Vince would set it all back to rights by holding each piece until the shudders had stopped.

  He could hear his own heartbeat. He hadn’t thought of that clock in years. His favorite moment was when Vince would start the pendulum swinging with one calculated tap, then gently withdraw his hand and close the door. And it would just go on and on, without batteries or electricity, a miracle of physics and balance and motion.

  “Have you ever been out of Louisiana?” she asked.

  “I traveled to Colorado a few years ago. I didn’t care for all that snow. It felt suffocating.”

  She said nothing, looking out at the hills, all the way into the valley.

  “But last year, when it snowed in Natchitoches, I realized why people love snow scenes in art.”

  “Like paintings of little cottages under the snow, all the windows lit with a warm, welcoming light? The kind everybody sells at Christmas?”

  “Just like that. And I realized that if you know what’s underneath, you recognize the shape of the hills. The bones of the land never change, they’re just softened. It’s beautiful.”

  She was quiet for a long time and he wondered if she had another question she was afraid to ask. Finally she spoke very softly, “People are like that for me. When I first meet them and they tell me so many lies, all I can see is the snow. I never know how deep it goes or what’s underneath, sinkholes or sharp, broken branches. But after a while, I start to see a pattern. Some people lie about their work, some people lie about how popular or attractive they are. It starts to take shape and eventually, I can see the bones of them underneath all of that.”

  The rain sounded loud in his ears.

  “I have lied to you,” he said.

  “I know.”

  He wanted to ask if she can still see him under all of it. He wondered what he sounded like, if his lies are as ugly as all others. But to her, maybe all lies were the same.

  As if sensing his despair, she turned to him. They were just inches apart and the rain pattered down, landing on the metal of the bench with soft pings. Her lips were tilted up.

  “Remember, I knew you before the snow came,” she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “How many million Aprils came

  Before I ever knew

  How white a cherry bough could be

  A bed of squills, how blue.”

  ― Sara Teasdale

  She impulsively leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek, except they landed closer to his jaw. He stayed completely still, as if not wanting to scare her away, but his hand tightened on her hip. His skin was warm under her lips. She moved a few inches to the left, the corner of his mouth just under hers, and then she remembered how much there was to lose, how much she relied on him being in her life, and she leaned back.

  Henry thought about making some light-hearted comment and standing up. Being honest with Gideon was like walking into the sun after being in a dark room. Her whole being thrilled at it, but there was a pain to it, too. She wanted to run back to where it was safe, where she could hide in the dark.

  He raised his brows, a question there as plain as day. She loved the dark blue of his eyes, loved everything about him, from the angle of his jaw to the curve of his mouth. It must seem ridiculous how she’d hovered along that curve, like a woman would do if she wanted to tease a man into believing she was interested.

  He waited, not saying anything and she felt his confusion. For a moment, she balanced between truth and lies, between honoring th
e words she said to him in the basement and protecting her heart.

  “I’m afraid to kiss you.”

  “Are you afraid it’ll mean more to me than to you?”

  “No. I just… I don’t want to ruin anything.”

  “Ruin? How? Are you that bad at it?” He was being silly, trying to lighten the moment.

  “What if things don’t work out?” She felt her cheeks go warm. She didn’t want to say the rest, about how she hadn’t known him very long, but she didn’t want to live without him.

  “What if things go well and Father Toussaint demands to officiate at our wedding?”

  “I think if things go really badly, we’ll still have to get married. He’s counting on us. We’ll just have to live in unhappily wedded discontent for the rest of our days.”

  She loved the way his dimples appeared even when he wasn’t outright smiling. “You’re not really selling me on this kiss.”

  “I just think we should consider all the possible outcomes, not just the good ones. Maybe we shouldn’t ruin what we have by changing our friendship.”

  “Henry,” he said.

  “Excuse me?” She bristled at his tone. If he’d been Ruby he would have said ‘bless your heart’.

  “Look at us,” he demanded. He looked down, squeezing her hip. His other hand was resting on her knee. She had one arm wrapped around his shoulders, her fingers resting against the back of his neck. Her other hand was tucked between them, right near his heart.

  He leaned closer, putting his mouth just inches from her ear. The low rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I don’t think we’ve been just friends for a very long time.”

  She closed her eyes against his words but the truth of it sank deep into her heart. All this time, she’d been worried about taking a step that was already made. She turned her head, just a little, just enough that his lips met her cheekbone. And then she tilted her head up, finding her way by touch alone. His mouth was warm and soft, and she thought she could feel him smiling against her lips.

  The sound of the rain faded away and she kissed him, letting herself be as honest as she’d wanted to be, letting her kiss speak for everything she was afraid to say with words. Her whole life she’d kissed with one part of her holding back, afraid to share too much or be too bold. Those movie scenes where two people were oblivious to the world, wrapped up in the sheer gloriousness of kissing, had always made her laugh. She understood now. Gideon tasted like rain and everything she’d ever wanted, and she raised her hands to cup his face.

  After a few minutes, he leaned back. The expression in his eyes reminded Henry of a show she once watched were people would do ridiculous things, like walk over hot coals or shave their heads in order to win a grand prize.

  She’d had good kisses and bad kisses and so-so kisses. But she’d never had someone look at her like she was the prize.

  “Can I touch you now?” she asked.

  “I… what?”

  “I’ve wanted to touch you for so long.” She traced his jaw, feeling the rain against his skin, the slight stubble of his beard rasping against her palm.

  “Yes,” he said and his voice was thick.

  She closed her eyes and sighed. Sliding one hand down to his chest, felt his steady heart beat and the warmth of his skin through his shirt. She opened her eyes and reached for his hand, bringing it up between them, threading their fingers together.

  “You have beautiful hands. Sometimes when we’re working, I have trouble concentrating because I just want to watch your hands.” She traced the veins on the back, then his knuckles, then the bone at his wrist. She turned his hand over and marveled at how much bigger it was than hers, how similar but so different they were. The rain dropped gently into his palm and she traced the lines with her finger.

  He cleared his throat and she looked up. Something in his expression made her realize she was acting as if she owned him.

  “I promise not to abuse the privilege,” she said, making her voice light but putting his hand back where it had been before. The rain was coming down harder, the drops sounding like extra beats between her words.

  He laughed. “I can’t imagine how you could.” He shifted his arm and bumped against her sweatshirt pocket. “What is that? Did you bring a book to read on our hike?”

  “No,” she said, her face going warm. She’d planned to give him his present at the summit, but now that they were here, shyness swept through her. “It’s not for me. It’s for you.”

  “You thought I’d be bored up here?”

  “It’s a birthday present, but I don’t think we can open it here.” She blinked up at the sky.

  “I’ll cover it,” he said and made a little shelter with his hands. “Please.”

  She withdrew the little volume from her pocket and tried to hand it to him but he shook his head.

  “I’ll be the umbrella,” he said and tilted his head to read the title. “Sara Teasdale poetry. Would you read one?”

  She thought of the poem she’d found in By the Book. It was shorter than she remembered. “It’s called “Barter” and prepare yourself, because it doesn’t end it heartbreak.”

  “Edna is turning over in her grave as we speak,” he said.

  She took a breath and read slowly, trying not to think of how the rain was falling harder and how Father Tom and the others must be waiting. “Life has loveliness to sell, All beautiful and splendid things,” she began. He was silent beside her and the slow movement of his chest was like punctuation to the phrases. She reached the line, “Scent of pine trees in the rain, Eyes that love you, arms that hold,” and threw him a glance, smiling shyly at how accurate those words were at the moment. The last stanza was nearly drowned out by the patter of fat drops falling everywhere around them, on the leaves of the trees, the ground, the metal bench, and them.

  Spend all you have for loveliness,

  Buy it and never count the cost;

  For one white singing hour of peace

  Count many a year of strife well lost,

  And for a breath of ecstasy

  Give all you have been, or could be.

  Henry closed the book and quickly tucked it back in her pocket. The rain was pouring down but Gideon made no move to shift her from his lap. Instead, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close, kissing her as if he wanted to taste the words that had just fallen from her lips.

  “Thank you,” he murmured against her mouth. “Thank you for that.”

  She took a breath, struggling to think straight. “Alice has a whole range of poetry books.”

  “Does she?”

  “Of course you know that.” She shook her head, laughing a little at how scattered her thoughts were, and a drop of rain made its way down to the end of her nose. She reached up and traced his lower lip with her thumb. “We should go,” she said, regret coloring her words. “If there weren’t a whole bunch of priests waiting for us―”

  “And if it weren’t raining buckets,” he said, kissing the drop from the end of her nose.

  “I don’t mind the rain, actually. I could sit out here forever with you.”

  “Says the girl with the hood.”

  “True,” she said, and stood up. He took her hand, linking their fingers together and started back down the path. “Maybe if we hurry, they’ll think we started back as soon as the rain picked up.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think anything we do will fool them.”

  “True again,” she said with a sigh. “And I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Thinking of lying to them. Well, fooling them.” She hunched into her hood for a moment. “Lately, I’ve realized how dishonest I am.”

  He made a noise in his throat. “No more than everybody else, probably.”

  She stepped around a puddle and said, “Exactly. And I always thought I was the most honest one. I somehow convinced myself that everybody else was lying through their teeth, and I wasn’t.”

&nb
sp; “Is this part of feeling like a terrible person?” His tone was gentle.

  They’d had such a beautiful moment at the summit, she didn’t want to ruin it but she’d promised not to hide, promised to be open with him. “I told Kimberly I knew she was my mother. But I did it in a really horrible way.” The last word came out a little unsteadily. “I was so sure I had the upper hand but when it came down to it, I’m not really any better than she is. Yes, she abandoned me, but that doesn’t automatically make me the good guy. She said she was trying to give me a good life and I think I believe her. Of course, she doesn’t know that. All she knows is that I’m angry and blame her for not having a real mother.”

  She wiped a hand over her face. “I don’t know. I’m confused about whether I should let it go, or try to repair what was broken to begin with. Maybe I’ll just make it worse.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. “I never told you the whole story. About my parents and the way they died,” he said.

  She looked up in surprise. “No, I don’t think you did.” She wanted to tell him it wasn’t necessary but she also knew Gideon never said more than he had to, and if he wanted to tell the story, she wanted to listen.

  “You know I killed Mark Daniels out of revenge.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I didn’t have the whole story. I didn’t know until after the fact, that my parents were involved in dealing cocaine. They owed a lot of money to a big time dealer based in Atlanta. Mark Daniels and Duane Banner came to collect the money, or convince them to find it.” His voice was flat but she could see the pain etched in his face. “My whole life, I thought they had picked up some drifters and offered them dinner. I thought they were good Samaritans. My aunt told me that because she thought it would be easier than knowing the truth. And that little white lie fed my rage until I was old enough to make my own plan for revenge.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. She remembered Barney Sandoz and his accusations of Gideon being involved somehow with cocaine and drug dealing.

  “So, you’re right to be angry that Kimberly abandoned you. But I also think you’re right to forgive her. I thought my parents were saints, but they had a role in what happened to us. I wish I’d known. Kimberly had selfish motives, I’m sure. But she also might really have believed you’d be safe there, and loved.” He glanced down at her, his hair dripping onto his forehead. “Having the whole story makes all the difference. I would talk to her again, let her tell her side of it. And whatever you decide, I know you’ll do the right thing.”