Page 14 of Gideon’s Gratitude (Love in Mission City #5)

Chapter Six

Archer

D isgruntled. Annoyed. Irritated.

Selecting just one verb seemed silly, so I settled for three.

All quite similar, and all very appropriate.

Certainly, over the years, opposing counsel often sought to shut me down.

Thea had done so any number of times. Yet none of those instances touched the frustration besetting me at the moment.

Obviously Gideon was hurting. Obviously I felt obliged to help.

Are you in any shape to do so?

Well…another point for debate.

While Gideon was preparing for this evening, I’d checked my phone again.

Another message from Doctor Yeardley. Another message to be ignored.

For now. I’d deal with the real world tomorrow.

Or perhaps on the weekend. Except she didn’t generally work weekends.

Well, Monday then. Monday would be soon enough to deal with whatever news she had to give me.

The hot dog truly tasted divine. I’d remembered correctly.

Fourth grade. Visit to the Pacific National Exhibition.

I’d thrown it up later after enjoying one too many rides on the roller coaster.

Mother had warned me, but I’d been determined.

That I was eating a dog now was itself a wonder.

The chili was perfect, and the melted cheese was decadent. Even the coffee was aromatic.

Everything about this place enthralled me.

Mostly because I’d never have chosen it for myself.

Mission City had several higher-class restaurants.

Nothing like Vancouver, however. I could eat expensive meals every day of the week and go months without duplicating a location.

I didn’t, of course. I reserved those nights for special occasions.

The rest of the time, I ate whatever my housekeeper prepared, or whatever could be delivered.

Most nights I worked through dinner.

Thea stopped complaining a long time ago, preferring to eat her meal while watching mindless television. Reality shows, she called them. Scripted nonsense was my silent reply. I witnessed high drama every day at my job—why would I want to watch such rubbish when I returned home?

I caught the occasional Canucks game—Vancouver’s hockey team. I even represented one of the team members in a divorce case. One of the nastier in my career. Often was. Money and children. Two sticking points that brought high emotions to the table.

Gideon certainly felt high emotions. Whatever his sin was—and it could be any number of things—I didn’t believe the man to be irredeemable.

Well, child abuse, neglect, or molestation were irredeemable.

Every instinct I possessed assured me that he’d engaged in none of those things.

I could guess at the cause of the reason, but I disliked speculation.

I wanted hard facts. Facts could be argued. Innuendo was much harder to refute.

As I finished the last of my meal, Sarabeth magically appeared. “You guys want dessert?”

“I’m good, thank you.” Gideon offered a smile.

“I’ll pass as well, thanks though.” Oh good, he’s eaten most of his dinner. The man is too skinny. Especially for someone who used to do such a physical job. Just too slim. And not in a good way. He lacked color in his cheeks. No vigor in his steps. Not off, just…not quite right.

“You ready for the bill?” Her grin was untiring.

I glanced at my watch. “My ride will be here within the next hour. Do you mind if we wait inside?”

She waved her hand. Several booths were empty, which reassured me. “Stay as long as you like. We have some groups that stay for hours or even overnight. We’re the only place in the city that pretty much never closes.”

“How late are you working?” Gideon’s eyes flashed something. Concern?

“Oh, just a few more hours. I do my eight then go home and soak my feet. Five years I’ve been doing this job, and I still can’t get used to standing all shift. But hey, I love working here, so what’s a little discomfort?”

“Pain is bad.” Gideon’s eyes again flashed. “Pain is your body telling you something’s wrong.”

His vehemence appeared out of proportion to the situation.

Sarabeth patted him on the shoulder. “Just a few aches. I make it out to be worse than it is. Trying to get good tips, eh?” She winked.

He scowled, and was about to speak when I cut him off. “I promise a big tip. You’ve been wonderful.”

Her blue eyes flashed gratitude, and she beamed .

Hell, to see that smile, I’d leave a tip equal to the meal.

The prices in this place were a steal. Plus, she’d made Gideon smile.

Worry, yes, but smile as well. I’d do anything to make my companion smile again.

An air of sadness followed him. Of course, losing one’s children in a custody battle would do that. To anyone.

Sarabeth removed our plates and headed to the kitchen. She was a lovely woman. Vibrant, friendly, and curvy. I liked women who were comfortable in their own bodies.

Thea’d been obsessed with maintaining her figure. She’d been angular with hard edges.

I was pretty chiseled myself, and we’d made a stunning couple . Should I open up about the dissolution of my marriage? Might that help? Show I’m human after all?

“Okay, I’ve been dying to ask.” Gideon leaned forward. “What’s with your name?”

I smiled. A genuine smile. “Family name going back several generations. On my mother’s side.”

“Ah.”

“And you?”

“No idea. I mean, it’s biblical, right? A heller. One who cuts down. In some interpretations, it’s a warrior.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m none of those things.”

“Sometimes living makes you a warrior.”

His gaze met mine. Yeah, I’d read the man right. He struggled. Whatever demons he endured—they were dragging him down. Or threatening to.

“I’m no one’s hero.” Complete dejection.

Turn it around. Fast.

“So your name is biblical. How about Lucky? ”

Those brown eyes widened. Clearly he hadn’t seen that question coming.

“He was a rescue. A family bought him as a puppy. I got the sense there’d been abuse, but nothing was ever said explicitly.

Anyway, he turned up at the animal shelter with a badly broken leg.

A local vet volunteered to do the surgery for free as long as he was going to be placed in a home where he’d be tended to.

Someone who could give him constant attention.

About that time, I was haunting the local shelter and, I don’t know, it fit.

He needed someone, and I needed someone. ”

“Lucky seems hearty and healthy.” And friendly.

“Months of rehab. And patience—on both our parts. He was hurt pretty bad, and if you look at him in a certain angle, you can see where the break was. But the vet gave him the green light to do anything. She was thrilled with his progress. If he overdoes it, he might limp for a bit. The vet figures that’s as much about sense memory as actual pain. ”

“Two lost souls found each other.”

Another rub to the forehead. “I also adopted him because labs have great temperaments. I’ve worked hard to socialize him, and I’ve seen no lingering signs of abuse. Anyway, I figured my kids would love him and he’d love them. I guess I’ll never know.”

I wanted to rail against the assertion. To point out I could help fix the situation. But I didn’t have the right. And it’d likely lead to another row. We were enjoying our coffee, so why spoil it with another argument?

Even if the hardheaded man was wrong.

I shifted on the bench seat. “Do you have other family? You said you were estranged from your parents.”

He shook his head. “My grandparents are all gone. No siblings. No aunts or uncles or cousins. Just me and my parents.” Another rub .

I frowned. “Are you all right? Is your head hurting?”

“Nah.” He lowered his hand.

Upon my closer inspection, however, he appeared to be squinting. He waved the concern away, which only increased my feeling of unease. “How about your family?”

“I’m not certain we have enough time.” Because explaining my clusterfuck of a wonderful menagerie of family took an extensive explanation.

The man inclined his head. “You tell me.”

I grabbed my phone and checked for messages. A text had arrived unnoticed stating the driver would arrive within thirty minutes. The text was only five minutes old.

Well, he asked.

“My father is Cliven Chamberlain, and my mother is Clementine Archer.”

Gideon appeared to attempt to suppress a snort. He failed.

“Clive and Clementine have eight children.” I took a breath. “I’m the eldest. Next came the twins—Cherish and Cherry.” Another breath and a suppression of an eye roll. “Followed by Chad, Chelsea, Charmaine, Chuck, and Channing.”

“You’re serious?”

“As…whatever expression you choose to use. Yes, as a heart attack.”

Bad choice.

Whatever.

“Okay, ages.”

“The twins are thirty-five. Four years younger than myself. You’d never believe it with the way Cherish attempts to boss me around.”

“Attempts?”

“I might, occasionally, let her think she’s bested me.

It’s all an illusion.” I straightened. “Cherish married Maris and they have two children. Richelle is eight and Rogan is eleven. Same sperm donor.” God help me, those children were terrors.

Not that I’d ever tell my sister that. No, I valued my life.

“Cherry married Don and they have two children. Clarence is three and Carmen is one.”

“I’m sensing a pattern.”

“Well, Chuck is twenty-four. He’s married to Tally. They have two children. Lewis is six and Lansing is two.”

“They married young.”

“Seventeen. Shotgun. And, of all my siblings and their partners, those two are the sappiest by far. And that’s saying something.”

Gideon motioned for me to continue.