A Time to Keep

by Rochelle Alers

  Waiting until the police cruiser drove around her, Gwen shifted into gear and followed him. She was grateful he’d turned off his lights. And for the second time in as many days she was given a personal police escort to her destination.

  Deputy Caulfield moved closer to Gwen as the ferryboat pulled away from the pier. She sat, arms crossed under her breasts, as she stared out at the brown, brackish water. It was apparent the deputy didn’t have much to do if his orders were to take her to his superior officer.

  “What a waste of taxpayers’ money, Deputy Caulfield,” she whispered harshly. “Don’t you have better things to do than escort me to your boss?”

  The deputy stared straight ahead as he affected a stern expression. If he’d removed his sunglasses, then Sheriff Harper’s fiancée would’ve seen the amusement in his eyes. Everyone at the station house was used to seeing Gwen when she came in on Tuesday mornings to gather information for her column with the Tribune. He’d found her to be wholly professional, because she never used her personal relationship with Shiloh to advance her position with the newspaper. Some of the deputies and those who made up the civilian staff had begun placing bets on the date she would eventually seek out the sheriff’s office.

  The ferryboat pulled alongside the wharf to the Outlaw. Gwen stood up and made her way down the gangplank, the deputy following. “Thank you for the personal escort,” she said, smiling.

  “Sorry, Miss Taylor, but I have orders to take you directly to Sheriff Harper.” He cupped her elbow and led her up the wooden steps to the restaurant.

  She lifted a shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

  * * *

  Shiloh stared at Gwen as she entered the Outlaw with one of his deputies. A hint of a smile deepened the lines around his eyes when he noticed the stiffness in her back and the stubborn set of her jaw. She was not happy. Gwen was upset and he’d been scared stiff that something had happened to her.

  He nodded to his deputy. “Thanks, Caulfield.”

  “No problem, boss.”

  Shiloh lifted an eyebrow at Gwen who’d folded her arms under her breasts while tapping the toe of one of her high-heeled patent leather sandals.

  “We were waiting for you before…” His words trailed off when his cell phone rang at the same time a voice crackled through the two-way radio attached to the deputy’s left shoulder. “Harper,” he said, answering the phone.

  Gwen heard “explosion” and “fire” and a chill shook her like a fragile leaf in a storm. Her annoyance with Shiloh evaporated, replaced by a fear that squeezed her heart. He’d survived one fiery explosion only to race off to confront another one.

  She blinked back tears. Come back to me, darling.

  Shiloh’s eyes searched her face, reaching into her thoughts. “I’m coming back to you. Tell the others I have to answer a nine-eleven call.”

  He was there, then he was gone. Her gaze fixed on the space where he’d been. She closed her eyes and still his image lingered, the scent of his distinctive cologne, the breadth of his broad shoulders, the gold and green lights in his eyes, eyes that reminded her of pinpoints of sunlight coming through leaves and yards of Spanish moss.

  The noise and activity in the restaurant pulled her from her private musings, and she opened her eyes to find Ian coming toward her. She affected a smile she didn’t feel at that moment. Her gaze lingered on his grim expression. Instead of his customary tunic and black pinstriped chef’s uniform, he wore a colorful Hawaiian print shirt and jeans.

  Ian Harper saw fear in his future sister-in-law’s eyes. He reached for her hand. “What’s going on, Gwen?”

  “Shiloh had a nine-eleven call.”

  Ian drew in a lungful of breath when he registered her flat, emotionless tone. “What is it?”

  Gwen shook her head. “All I heard over a deputy’s twoway radio was something about a fire and explosion.”

  Gritting his teeth, Ian muttered a savage expletive. His moss-green gaze swung back to Gwen. “Please don’t say anything to my mother. Let’s get back to the others.”

  They hadn’t taken more than half a dozen steps when a young woman with raven-black hair, equally dark eyes and a rich olive complexion bore down on Ian.

  “I have an emergency at home,” she said in a French Creole dialect.

  “Good luck,” Ian replied in the same language.

  The undercover agent had used an agreed upon code. He knew Inez’s abrupt departure and Shiloh’s nine-eleven call were drug-related, and that the explosion and fire had come from a meth lab.

  Gwen smiled at her father when he stood up and pulled out a chair for her at a round table in a corner of the crowded restaurant. “Thanks, Daddy.” She stared at the six people staring at her, nodding to Augustine Leblanc, whom she hadn’t seen since the night of the fund-raiser. “I’m sorry that I kept everyone waiting. Shiloh said to tell you that he had to answer a nine-eleven call.”

  Paulette Taylor stared across the table at her daughter. “Where were you, sweetheart? It’s not like you to keep folks waiting.”

  Gwen picked up her menu, pretending interest. “I got tied up working on a story,” she said in a quiet voice that belied her annoyance with her mother chastising her as if she were a child.

  Her head came up and she waved away the carafe of wine as Millard attempted to fill her wineglass. She didn’t intend to drink anything alcoholic until she verified her physical condition.

  “Does everyone know what they want?”

  Moriah smiled sweetly. “Yes. Just tell Ian what it is you want.”

  “I’ll have the broiled seafood platter.”

  Paulette, waiting until Ian retreated to the kitchen to add Gwen’s request to their party’s order, laced her manicured fingers together. “What is it you’re working on?”

  Gwen wished she were sitting next to her mother so she could kick her under the table. “It has nothing to do with my column.”

  Natalee flashed her toothpaste-ad smile. “I hardly ever read the Tribune, but I read it now because I want to see if I can recognize any of the names of the people who are behaving badly.”

  Attractive lines fanned out around Augustine’s dark eyes when he smiled. His graying straight black hair, brushed off a high forehead, lay in precise strands on the nape of his neck. His khaki-brown complexion, narrow face, high cheekbones and full sensual mouth were the result of a blending of races so indicative of the region.

  “You’ve single-handedly done what our sheriff’s department has been unable to do for years. And that is curtailing the proliferation of prostitution over near the Bienville waterfront.”

  Gwen smiled at the man who appeared completely enthralled with Moriah Harper. “No married man wants his wife or children to see his name in the paper because he was picked up for soliciting a prostitute.”

  “I don’t know why a man would want to pay a woman to have sex with him when he has a wife at home,” Moriah said, frowning. “Don’t you agree, Mills?”

  Millard picked up his glass of water and took a sip. “I’m going to pass on that one,” he mumbled.

  “What do you mean you pass, Millard Taylor?” Paulette practically shouted.

  “Stop looking at me like that, Paul. I’ve never solicited a hooker. But I understand why men do it, and especially married men.”

  “Please pray tell me why?” Paulette drawled sarcastically.

  “Because…because some wives don’t…won’t…” Millard did not finish his statement.

  Gwen gave her father a sidelong glance. “You just put your foot in your mouth, Daddy.”

  “Won’t do what?” Paulette asked.

  Gwen glared at Paulette. “Let it go, Mama.”

  “I will not let it—”

  “I said to please let it go,” Gwen said between her teeth, interrupting her mother. “We’re all adults and we know what Daddy wanted to say.”

  Paulette opened her mouth to argue with her daughter, then closed it as if realization had suddenly dawned.
<
br />   Eyes downcast, she smoothed out the tablecloth next to her place setting. “All I’m going to say is that I’ve never given my husband a reason to pay for sex.” She’d stressed the last word.

  “Neither have I,” Natalee intoned confidently.

  Gwen exchanged a smile with Moriah. “Nor will I.”

  Ian came back, sat down next to Natalee, and draped an arm over the back of her chair. “What did I miss?”

  Augustine raised his wineglass. “The ladies were talking about men paying women for sex.”

  Ian stared at his wife. “I’ve never had to pay for sex, because women usually pay me,” he teased with a wide grin. Dropping his arm and pushing back his chair, he popped up like a jack-in-the box. “Maudire! I just forgot I left something in the kitchen.”

  Natalee’s eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. “Oh, no he didn’t just raise the hell up outta here after talking that smack!”

  “Please, Natalee,” Moriah said in a soft voice that challenged her daughter-in-law not to ignore her warning. She rounded on Augustine, green eyes flashing. “And don’t you start, Augie, because you’ll only wind up losing this round with me.”

  Augustine stared at Moriah under lowered lids. “You win because I let you win, mon amie.”

  Moriah blushed to the roots of her curly hair. “I am not your girlfriend, Augustine.”

  He lowered his head and stared at Moriah as seconds ticked off. “Not yet.”

  Gwen realized she wasn’t the only one holding her breath when there came a collection of sighs from around the table. It wasn’t until Ian returned with a tray of fish, pork and chicken-filled appetizers and a cold antipasto that the tense moment ended.

  CHAPTER 17

  A week before she was to exchange vows with Shiloh Gwen moved back to Bon Temps. The temporary move served a twofold purpose: she could finish packing up her office before it was to be shipped to the home she would share with her new husband, and it would give her time to meet with the wedding consultant to finalize the plans for her wedding.

  Her anxiety as to whether she was carrying Shiloh’s baby was alleviated by the onset of her menses. It lasted two instead of the normal five days, but the show was enough to put her mind at ease.

  She and Shiloh mailed out invitations to family members and close friends, welcoming them to the nuptials of Gwendolyn Paulette Taylor and Shiloh Ryker Harper in the small Roman Catholic church where he’d been baptized.

  Her gaze shifted to the headlines of the latest issue of the Teche Tribune. It had been three weeks since the explosion and fire in an abandoned building near the waterfront, yet the incident was still on the minds of most parish residents.

  The evidence collected by a team of bomb and arson experts revealed that the property had been used as a meth lab. The owner of the property denied knowledge of any illegal activity, which left local police and drug enforcement agents frustrated because they hadn’t made an arrest.

  Willis Raymond Benton’s defense that he was an innocent victim when someone spiked his drink at a local club was strengthened because of the lab’s existence, and his claim was subsequently corroborated by two of the six young men who’d been with him. They claimed their drinks were also spiked and that they’d passed out in the woods instead of attempting to drive home.

  The D.A.’s office offered Willis Raymond Benton a plea bargain: ten years’probation, loss of his driver’s license for five years, and an order to pay the relatives of the surviving infant two million dollars. When Gwen told Shiloh that the district attorney’s office had caved under political pressure from Bram Benton, he cautioned her to leave the law to the lawyers, that he did not intend to discuss the case with her, and extracted a promise from her that they would never bring their work home.

  The Teche Tribune sold out their weekly circulation with shocking headlines and Nash McGraw’s op-ed columns were filled with innuendoes hinting of bribery and a coverup.

  Keith Nichols’ unannounced visit to the newspaper’s office ended the impasse between his office and the publisher. Keith had threatened Nash with a lawsuit, citing libel and slander if he didn’t cease and desist. Nash quickly acquiesced, saying that it was worth the threat because he’d increased the paper’s circulation and revenue appreciably.

  Gwen’s gaze shifted from the newspaper to the stack of letters Janet Carruthers had given her. She’d read and reread them over and over and hadn’t come up with a single clue. Most of them were innocent notes from boys who’d thanked Shelby for studying with them, while others complimented her because she’d changed her hairstyle or started a new trend when she wore a new outfit. None professed their love or hinted they wanted a sexual liaison. She wanted to discuss the case with Shiloh, but because of their promise to each other, she hadn’t.

  The doorbell rang, eliciting a smile from her. One of her first requests on the renovation list was to replace the doorbell. Rising to her feet, she went to the front door.

  Peering through the security eye, she went completely still. She was expecting the wedding planner, not her cousin. She opened the door to find Lauren, Caleb and their three children grinning at her.

  “Surprise!” the Samuels family shouted, as six-year-old Kayla showered her with a handful of colorful confetti.

  Gwen looped her arms around Lauren’s neck. “What are you guys doing here? You told me that you wouldn’t be down until Thursday.” A pair of eyes in a face so much like her own sparkled like polished onyx.

  Lauren kissed her first cousin’s cheek. “We changed our plans after I asked the kids if they wanted to wait and finish the camp season or come see their Aunt Gwennie and they opted for their aunt.”

  Pulling back, Gwen smiled at her cousin’s husband. Amusement flickered in the amber eyes belonging to bestselling author C.B. Samuels as he ushered his two sons and daughter into the entryway. He’d recently celebrated his fortieth birthday and along with marriage and fatherhood he’d acquired a captivating presence that enhanced his stunning virility.

  “You guys should’ve told me when you were coming, and I would’ve picked you up at the airport.”

  Dipping his head, he brushed a light kiss over Gwen’s mouth. “We drove down,” Caleb informed her. “Congratulations, cuz. I can’t believe you’re really getting married.”

  She patted his shoulder. “Believe it, cuz.”

  Extending her arms, she smiled at the younger Samuels. Ten-year-old Drew had grown at least an inch since she last saw him. Kayla had lost her baby fat, and four-year-old Royce, clinging to his father’s leg, smiled shyly up at her.

  “Come and give Aunt Gwennie a hug and kiss.” Kayla raced into her embrace while her brothers were slower in responding.

  “I didn’t know you lived in a castle, Aunt Gwennie,” Kayla whispered close to her ear.

  Gwen smiled at the young girl. All of Lauren’s children resembled Caleb. They’d inherited his slender lankiness, black curly hair, and citrine-colored eyes.

  “Do you want to see it?” The three children nodded. Gwen winked at Lauren. “Come on up and I’ll show you your rooms.”

  Lauren turned to her husband. “Cal, could you please bring in the bags?”

  He bowed from the waist. “Yes, boss lady.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes at him, then followed Gwen across the highly polished living room floor and up the winding staircase to the second floor. “I have to agree with Kayla. This house is a showplace.”

  Gwen glanced over her shoulder. “And that’s what it’s going to stay—a showplace.” She told Lauren that she didn’t intend to make Bon Temps her permanent residence. “I’ll open it for tours, and offer it for fund-raisers.”

  “Are you going to remove the furniture for the reception?”

  Gwen shook her head. “No. The doors on the opposite side of the living room open out into a ballroom.”

  Kayla gasped when shown her bedroom, running to sit on a padded window seat. “It’s for a princess.”

  Lauren ruf
fled her daughter’s short curly hair. “That’s because you are a princess.”

  The two boys were less effusive, especially Drew when told he had to share his bedroom with his younger brother who followed him around as if he were a rock star.

  “And you’re not sleeping in my bed,” Drew said, glaring at Royce.

  Royce crawled up on one of the twin beds. “I have my own bed,” he countered proudly.

  Gwen opened the door to a bedroom across the hall. “This one is for you and Caleb.”

  Lauren walked into a bedroom that was wholly Southern in nature. Creamy-white fabrics on dignified mahogany pieces and a pale sisal rug complemented off-white wallpaper dotted with delicate violets.

  “Unbelievable,” Lauren crooned. She ran her fingertips down the sheer fabric draping the decoratively carved posts on the four-poster bed. “I feel as if I’ve gone back a hundred years.”

  “I’ll let you settle in, then once I finish meeting with the wedding planner I’ll prepare lunch.”

  Lauren waved a hand. “Don’t trouble yourself with lunch. We stopped and ate about an hour ago.”

  “I went food shopping yesterday because I knew I wouldn’t have time later on in the week.”

  “As soon as Cal brings the bags in, I’m going to have the kids shower, then take a nap. They were so wired this morning that Cal pulled off the road and read them the riot act.”

  Gwen grimaced. It was not often that Caleb raised his voice to his children. “I’ll call Shiloh and have him come over after his shift ends. We can all have dinner here tonight.”

  “You don’t have to cook for us, Gwen. We can always order in.”

  “This is not Boston where you can order pizza or fried chicken and have it delivered within an hour. The nearest takeout is ten miles away.”

  “Damyum,” Lauren drawled. “You live in the country.”

  “Correction, cuz. I live in bayou country.”

  Lauren sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’ve done well, my sister. You have a beautiful home, you’ve fallen in love, and now you’re going to marry your Prince Charming.”