Page 1 of Gideon’s Gratitude (Love in Mission City #5)

Chapter One

Gideon

I ’m certifiable.

I entered my house and quickly stripped out of my clothes in the mudroom. All of my clothes. I was soaked to the bone, and nothing short of a scalding shower was going to warm me. I tossed everything into the dryer, turned it on, and pivoted to Lucky.

Said canine looked mighty pleased with himself, and his tail wagging went into overdrive when I grabbed a towel and encompassed the large beast in a massive hug.

While I toweled off my faithful companion, I received plenty of doggie kisses for my trouble. “You’re certifiable.”

Lucky cocked his head, then woofed.

Maybe we both were.

Once my buddy was dry—or drier—I tossed the towel into the washing machine for later and headed into the house.

Unconcerned about my windows being uncovered—so was I—I made a beeline up the stairs and into the bathroom.

The old pipes rattled as I coaxed hot water from the too-small tank—the tank I kept meaning to replace.

If it’s just you, what difference does it make?

Well, good point. If I continued to rattle around in my grandparents’ old home by myself, then it didn’t make a difference. Damn it, I didn’t want to be alone. At the moment, though, I was.

The hot spray was needles against my cold skin, but soon the warmth seeped into me.

Thunder cracked overhead. The wind was whipping up.

Good thing I’d filled the generator last week.

Power outages were common, with so many tree branches hanging so precariously near so many power lines.

Now, as I let out a deep breath, I reflected on what I’d seen. Lucky had alerted me to a newcomer arriving.

My Labrador Retriever, black in color, might not be good for much, but he was a good watchdog. Great, in theory, but given the multitude of tradespeople traipsing in and out of the construction site next door, it’d become wearying.

When his warning erupted today, on a statutory holiday, my curiosity had been piqued. Maybe someone wanted to put in some extra hours, I tried to convince myself. Nothing to see.

Or I could sate my curiosity and see what was up.

Instead of one of the vans from the trades, I saw a high-end SUV. Expecting some person in jeans and a coat, I instead saw a dude in a business suit who was totally ill-equipped for the weather. A guy of questionable sanity, obviously, wearing such inappropriate clothes.

Is he the owner?

I didn’t know.

Riley, the foreperson, the last time we’d spoken, had hinted the new owner—some rich guy from Vancouver building a weekend retreat—might actually make an appearance shortly. During all the months of construction, apparently, he’d never made the hour-long drive out.

Even after I made the noise complaint—which was totally justified—he hadn’t shown up.

He could’ve at least apologized. Quiet hours exist for a reason. Up here, on the mountain, some people didn’t take them seriously.

I did.

Needing rest shouldn’t have been something I needed to fight for. But I did, so I called the bylaws department for Mission City when the construction crew worked outside of the proscribed hours.

The city sent someone up.

Riley apologized and promised it wouldn’t happen again.

And it hadn’t.

I figured the newcomer was probably going to throw lavish parties or some other nonsense. With no respect for the quiet and solitude most people sought when they lived on the mountain.

My grandparents bought the home after their retirement and lived here happily until my grandmother passed two years ago.

After much cajoling, I convinced Grandad to go into an assisted-living facility.

The old coot had been happy as a clam after that, and even had a new lady friend. It would’ve tickled my grandma.

The timing had been perfect, as I needed a place. In fact, that need probably pushed Grandad into leaving sooner than he might’ve wanted.

Then, just three months ago, Granddad died in his sleep from a massive heart attack .

I’d been gutted. Again.

That’s in the past.

I had a safe place to live where I could lick my wounds, recover from my problems, and plot a new life.

Yeah, right.

Another streak of lightning, this one illuminating the room brightly, even though the window was small. The crack of thunder was less than a heartbeat later and then, in the blink of an eye, the lights flicked off and the shower stopped since there was no power for the pump.

Damn.

Wait for it…

Three, two…

Everything turned back on as the generator kicked in.

Not wanting to put any more demand on the thing than necessary, I washed my hair in less than a minute and hopped out.

Not warmed through. I could jack up the heat, but what was the point?

More demand on my trusty generator. I’d put on comfy clothes, and then I’d hunker down with Lucky in front of the gas fireplace, which didn’t require power to operate.

Probably the only amenity my grandparents had added to bring the place into the twenty-first century.

Otherwise, this was very much a house of the 1960s.

If I’d inherited the place before the accident, I’d have had grand plans to renovate and modernize. I towel dried my hair.

In the past. Nothing to be done about it now.

These days, I was doing well if I made it out of bed. Of course, having Lucky helped.

Not known for his patience, he’d jump on the bed to express his displeasure at being ignored.

And I should take a harder stance, but what was the point? A little misbehavior was to be accommodated .

Just like I’d done with my kids.

The pain shot through my chest and seized my heart. Why had I gone there? I’d had a run of several days without thinking about them. Which was bad, to be sure, but better than thinking about them and wallowing in self-pity.

I hotfooted back into the bedroom and systematically put on dry clothes. That would keep me warm. On the outside, at least. Nothing would ever warm my insides.

Sharp, clipped barking pulled me from my introspection. I zipped up my jeans as I padded barefoot out of the bedroom and to the top of the stairs.

“Knock it off, Lucky, it’s just the wind.”

Ignoring my command, the dog let off another round of barking.

I need socks.

And a drink.

One I’d get—the other was out of the question. I sat on the bed and pulled on my socks while the dog let out another series of barks. Thank God I no longer live in the city. Our townhouse had neighbors on both sides.

Another round of barking erupted as I clomped down the stairs.

“Seriously, Lucky, I’ve had just about—”

Through the ruckus, I heard it. A tentative knocking on my door. Quiet, but clearly audible. “Lucky, go sit on your rug.”

The dog, who’d been inches away from the door, gave me a very long look before finally tossing his snout in the air and heading over to his spot on the rug in front of the fireplace. His eyes narrowed as he looked seriously displeased.

Oh well, nothing to be done about it now .

I swung the door open because I had no peephole and honestly, if the person on the other side was a serial killer, I wasn’t sure I cared all that much.

Not sure what I expected, but a bedraggled and gorgeous man on the other side wasn’t it.

The guy I’d surreptitiously spotted earlier.

Serial killer or not, the dude needed to get out of the storm.

Another bolt of lightning shot across the sky, and in a nanosecond, the thunder boomed, resonating in my chest, and forcing my unwelcome guest to wince.

Opening the door farther, I beckoned the stranger into the house.

The man glanced around warily, finally settling on the dog who hadn’t done as instructed.

I glared, but Lucky gave me a what are you going to do about it glance before returning his attention to the newcomer.

“He’s harmless. Please, come in.”

Finally, at length, the stranger stepped across the threshold.

Even as I was closing the door, Lucky barged over and sniffed the man’s pant legs.

“Uh…”

“Hold out your hand, palm up, and let him sniff you.”

The soaked man obeyed, and Lucky sniffed. After a long moment, he licked the man’s palm.

The guy immediately wiped his hands on his waterlogged jacket.

“Sorry. It’s just that…huh.” I eyed my dog, whose tail continued to wag. “It’s just that Lucky’s reticent around strangers.”

“Seems fine with me.” The guy wiped his face. “Sorry to ask, but do you happen to have a towel?”

The question pushed me out of my trance. The man was handsome, no two ways about it. “Yeah, I’ll grab a towel.” I pointed to the coat tree. “Why don’t you hang up your coat? ”

“I don’t want to impose.” Gruff. Like a man who didn’t like requesting help for anything.

I’d once been such a man. No longer, though. “No imposition. Truly.” I clicked my tongue and headed toward the mudroom.

Lucky didn’t follow.

Argue with the dog, or leave him be? Lucky’d never been vicious.

Just hesitant. Totally understandable, given his circumstances, but I’d never seen him warm to someone so quickly before.

Usually it took hours—if it even happened at all.

Deciding my dog and the newcomer would be okay, I headed to the mudroom where a pile of towels sat in the cupboard.

With Lucky’s continual desire to come home covered in mud, I’d learned to keep everything stocked.

I returned to find Lucky curled up on his bed in front of the fire while the man still stood on the front mat. I flipped on the fireplace, then I moved to the guy and handed him a towel. “I’m Gideon Rodgers.”

The guy took the towel and rubbed his face.

When he moved to dry his hair, I got a good look. Dark-gray eyes that shone in the firelight. A touch over six feet tall, much like my ex—.

Don’t go there.

The hair was too wet to discern, but I guessed dark blond.

“Archer Chamberlain.” The newcomer dried his hand and held it out.

I shook his hand. Cold, wet, and clammy.

Still, the guy held on for just a moment longer. Our eyes met and held.

Finally, he pulled back. He took a step and his shoe squished.