Page 18 of Gideon’s Gratitude (Love in Mission City #5)

“I’m so sorry.” He strode across the front lawn. “I’m certain I’ve disturbed you, and I should have called—”

“You’re here now.” And I was irrationally happy about it. “Would you like to come in?”

“That would be greatly appreciated.” He stepped into the space. His presence loomed even larger than it had previously. Possibly owing to the gray ski jacket that matched his eyes, the tight-fitting jeans that hugged his butt, and the brilliant smile he wore.

He takes my breath away.

Not literally, but close.

Damn close.

He held up his glove-covered hands. “I have work to do, but it’s hard to do with these on, and the site office is too cold to remove them.”

“Sounds uncomfortable. ”

“Yes, well no one spends a significant amount of time in the space, so heating it makes little sense.”

“Why are you not back at your hotel?” That seemed to be the most logical idea.

“Well, there is that.” His cheeks were pink.

Whether from the morning’s fresh air or some other reason, I couldn’t be certain.

“I wanted to be close to the site today. Riley said some materials were arriving, and she wanted to ensure they met my specifications.”

Somehow, I had my doubts. The guy hadn’t been around for one day this entire time and, suddenly, his presence was required? Smelled fishy. But who was I to judge?

“Uh, sure, come on in.” I floundered. “Well, you’re already in. Come in farther. Take your boots off. Or not. And—”

Archer held up his hand. “I’m the one imposing on you. Of course, I’ll take my boots off. I’m just looking for a little corner where I can sit while I warm up.”

He carried a messenger bag I hadn’t noticed before. “Did you bring a laptop?”

“A netbook, yes.”

“Well, might as well set up at the kitchen table. My desk in the basement is covered with computer equipment. All from the 1990s.”

“Really?” A raised eyebrow.

“Well, maybe the mid 2000s. Really old, is what I’m trying to say.”

“That can be remedied easily, you know. I have a guy—”

“Seriously?” Heat raced to my cheeks in anger.

“I thought we went through this last night. You have money. That’s fine.

That’s your money. I do not have money. That’s fine.

The lack of money is on me. The computer works, and that’s all that really matters.

I have WiFi because when the modem broke, they insisted I had to get it.

I admit, it’s nice to access the internet without having to use data or go downstairs.

” Really nice. Had made my life simpler.

Archer held up his hands in surrender. “I just meant I overhauled all my office computers last year, and I think some of the old ones are still in storage. Would be simple for me to fix you up with something from the last decade.”

Yes, we were well into the third decade of the new millennia. Part of me was stuck in the nineties. My early teenage years. The really horrible time.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m sure you have better things to do with your time than worry about me.”

“Frankly, I don’t.”

My gaze snapped to him as he shrugged.

“I’m hiding out from the world until next week.”

“Your family?”

“And work and… Lots of people want my attention right now, and I’m not willing to give it up, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t. Not really. The man’s expression was guarded. He did that sometimes. Completely closed himself off. Other times—like last night when we’d been shopping—he’d be open and honest.

“Well, I have a few things to take care of. Hang out wherever you like.” I started to move away, but he grasped my elbow, much as he had the night before.

“Thank you, Gideon. For your hospitality. And your kindness.”

“It’s just a kitchen table. If you’re still here for lunch, I’m making mac and cheese.” I’d planned on toast, but something more nutritious was in order. Wouldn’t take too much more effort, but it’d be…hospitable.

“Mac and cheese sound delicious. Now, I don’t want to keep you.”

From what ?

Oh, right, he doesn’t know I have no life.

“Yes, well, I’ll head downstairs. See you in a few hours.”

Before I could say anything else monumentally stupid, I left the room.

As I descended the stairs, wincing as I went, I remembered I’d told the man I was between gigs.

Better than admitting I was on disability.

The insurance company was pushing me to find another job, but just about everything I was qualified for involved manual labor. Using my body. My broken body.

I eyed the barbells in the corner. And the resistance bands. Simple stretches and exercises. Resignedly, I dropped into the chair at the desk. At least here, Grandpa had sprung for quality.

The chair might be old, but the thing was sturdy and offered good support.

I activated the monitor and waited for the thing to come out of sleep mode.

Half the time it didn’t, and I needed to reboot.

Fortunately, today was a good day. I opened my seldom-used email to find no new messages.

I checked the chat forum I belonged to. Nothing there.

I should send a message to Adrian and do a proper check-in .

The guy’d been extra quiet today while Geoffrey had been extra loud.

His ex had hinted they might come to the States for Thanksgiving if he sent some money.

He did.

She reneged.

To say he was on the verge of losing it completely was an understatement. Maybe I should reach out to him as well.

Yet I did none of those things.

Instead I eyed the opened—but unread—email from Leo. I’d clicked on it so it wouldn’t be highlighted as new but had promptly closed it again.

You need help .

Clearly that had nothing to do with the kids. And no cancellation of tonight’s video chat had been sent, so that was a go. Would Leo be there, or would he fob the job off on the nanny? Working, he’d claim. Too busy.

Too important.

Screw it.

I clicked on the message and quickly scanned. At the bottom was a woman’s name and a phone number.

Kennedy Dixon.

Counselor.

Even if I called this woman, Leo didn’t promise he’d let me back into the kids’ lives. Far from it.

Before I could give it any more thought, I snatched up the landline and made the call.

A strong woman’s voice came through the line, but I was too befuddled to understand what she said.

“Kennedy Dixon. I need to speak to Kennedy Dixon.”

“Of course.” Soothing. Competent. “Kennedy is in with a client right now. Are you a client?”

“No. But I want to be. I need to be.”

“Okay, I hear you. What’s your name?”

“Gideon. Gideon Rodgers.”

Breathe.

“Great, you’re doing great. Can you tell me why you called today?”

“Because I need to speak to a counselor. Like, now.” Or I’ll lose my nerve.

“I hear you, Gideon, and I’m going to do what I can. May I place you on hold for one moment?”

“Yeah, I guess, I mean, sure.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right back. ”

The line clicked and some classical muzak started. Nothing obnoxious, but it didn’t soothe either.

Why am I doing this?

Because you want to see the kids.

What if he doesn’t let me?

You can show him you’re trying.

“Gideon?”

I hadn’t heard the click or noticed the music was gone. “Yes.”

“Kennedy has an opening at five o’clock, and will be happy to see you.”

Dread filled my gut. “She doesn’t really have an opening, does she? She’s just fitting me in.” Am I looking for an excuse?

“Gideon, if Kennedy wasn’t able to find you an appointment today, I’d be honest about it. She’s concerned about you and wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“She doesn’t know me.” Oh, God, what if she did? What if Leo had called the woman and ratted about me?

“No, she doesn’t.” Quiet assurance. “But I hear the stress in your voice and conveyed that to Kennedy. If you want to come another—”

“No, I’ll take it. I’ll be there at five.”

“Great. If you provide me with your email, I can send you our intake form. You can send it back and that will prepare Kennedy. I’ll also include information about the counseling center and what you can expect.”

Honestly, I hadn’t gotten that far. Had never pictured myself making the call. “And your address, right?”

“Yes, absolutely.” Her smile lit through the phone and, weirdly, it calmed me. “Now, how are you with dogs?”

“I own one.” Blurted out without thought.

“Oh, lovely. Would you like to bring them? ”

“You want me to bring Lucky? To your, uh, center?”

“Well, we have a therapy dog available for appointments, but we’re always thrilled to welcome clients’ pets. I might put my foot down at a full-grown pig, but you never know. I might be persuaded under the right circumstances.”

This was too ludicrous to fathom. “Yeah, I’ll bring Lucky.” Why not? Nothing else made sense these days.

“Great. If you’ll give me your email, I’ll send you the information right away.”

I rattled it off and within moments had said goodbye to the woman.

The woman whose name I hadn’t caught. With impatience, I waited for the email to arrive.

When it finally did, I clicked and waited for it to open.

I scanned it once through before reading more closely.

Therapy dogs. Horses. Nothing about pigs. What had she said about pigs?

Okay, calmer.

I opened the document and diligently completed my information. I hadn’t asked about cost, and this was likely to be more than I could afford, but I couldn’t afford not to. I’d figure it out. More days of mac and cheese.

Crap.

Lunch.

I emailed the form back to the nice smiling woman whose name I still didn’t know and rose from my seat. Less pain? Possibly. Everything was by degrees. Or pain scales. God, I hated fucking pain scales. Somehow, I never had the right answer.

Moving slowly, I approached the stairs. A voice carried from above.

Angry?

No. Adamant. Resolute. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could envision Archer being forceful .

That image sat low in my belly. If I looked past the man’s emotional resemblance to Leo, and the fact he was a divorce lawyer, a few good qualities emerged. Courteous. Considerate.

Good tipper.

I’d tried to give Sarabeth some change from my pocket, and she’d excitedly assured me the other gentleman had given her a huge tip, and she planned to indulge in some expensive bath salts to soak her feet.

Perhaps TMI, but she made her point effectively. She didn’t need my few loonies. Archer had taken care of her.

Now he quieted, and I held my breath. Dare I go up? Well, at some point I’d need to. Practicalities meant I couldn’t hide out in the basement forever, no matter how much the idea appealed.

After almost a minute, I ventured up the steps. They creaked, so that’d give him plenty of warning. At the top of the stairs, I peered around the doorway.

The man wasn’t at the table. He’d wandered over to the huge picture glass window looking out over the front yard. His sleeved arm lay against the pane, and his forehead rested there. He hunched and appeared smaller.

“I’m going to make lunch.”

He swung, clearly not having heard the stairs. “Yes, that would be lovely. May I help?”

I shook my head. “But you can keep me company.”

Lame.

“That also sounds lovely.” He pointed to the netbook. “I could use a break.”

“Okay. Great.”

What have I gotten myself into now?