Page 9 of Gideon’s Gratitude (Love in Mission City #5)

“Where are you?” Part plea, part demand.

“Nowhere near you. Signing off.” I cut the call.

There’d be hell to pay later, but for now, I wanted peace.

I’d never get it while speaking to my younger sister.

The twins, Cherry and Cherish, were four years younger than me, but one would never know it by the way they bossed me around.

Or tried to. Chad was two years younger than them.

Then came Chelsea, followed by Charmaine.

Chuck was the second youngest of the family. Yet at twenty-four, he already had two children. He and Tally started early. Well, Lewis had likely been an accident, but they’d never admit it. A quick wedding and settling into wedded bliss before the arrival of their first.

Here Chuck was, fifteen years younger than me, but already with the family I’d always wanted. Finally, there was Channing. Over twenty years separated youngest from eldest. Our parents had been busy.

Chelsea and Channing were still single, but the rest of my pile of siblings were all married or in committed relationships. Most had children.

Keeping up was a battle, and I counted on Jean-Michel to keep track of birthdays and other milestones.

In the next few days, a reminder of my parents’ anniversary would’ve been mentioned along with an offer to select an appropriate gift.

The man was a genius with gifts. Better than Thea or I had ever been.

And I would’ve shown up to my parents’ place, put on a good show, bowed out early, and headed home to be alone.

Now, though, I questioned the wisdom of those decisions. Maybe I should spend more time with my aging parents. They wouldn’t be around forever. Maybe I should dedicate more effort to getting to know my nieces and nephews.

Maybe you should be a better person.

Yeah, that stung. But Cherish was right—I wasn’t putting in the effort I should. The effort my family deserved.

I knocked on the cabin door and waited.

Nothing.

A nail gun went off in the distance.

Can he hear my knock over that noise?

Come to that, how bad was the noise inside the house?

Naturally, I’d never considered the impact of the construction on my neighbors until the complaint had been filed.

A decent distance existed between the houses on both sides, and trees blocked the view.

One of the reasons I picked this property—privacy on all four sides.

The forest at the back of the property led to a municipal tree farm, so the protected environment was in all directions.

The trees in the front yard obscured the view from the road.

The tree that had fallen on my SUV was one of them.

Riley had organized an arborist she knew, August, to come out and verify the strength of the remaining ones. If anything looked less than able to withstand high winds, it’d come down.

No, I wasn’t losing another vehicle to wind.

Nor to flooding. When I’d bought, I’d ensured I wasn’t near any water, like a creek or river, and I was well above the flood plain.

The floods from a couple of years ago had served as a warning. Climate change was real, and the west coast’s storms were only going to intensify.

I’d donated to several charities after the disaster, but hadn’t been personally affected by it. My own home in Point Grey was also storm-safe.

Or as much as any one place could be these days. November was the worst month for rain on the wet coast. I worried about construction, but the bones of the house had been completed by late October. Most of the work being done now was indoors.

This time, when I knocked again, I did so much harder. Still no response.

He said he was leaving the door unlocked.

Did that constitute an invitation?

Opening the door slowly, I considered calling out. I jumped at Lucky’s sudden appearance.

The dog nudged my knee, encouraging me into the house.

Well, if the hound said it was okay, it must be acceptable .

The drapes were drawn in the room. The inky darkness stood in stark contrast to the unrelenting sunshine. Sunshine was so rare these days.

Were it up to me, I’d fling the drapes open wide and welcome the light.

As I shut the door, Lucky moved over to the couch and sat at the head, peering over the back at me.

I rounded the couch.

To discover Gideon, curled into a ball, with an ice pack held to his forehead by one hand while the other covered his ear.

A memory flashed. Mom had suffered from terrible migraines well into her fifties. She often looked this miserable.

It’d been my responsibility to corral the rest of my siblings. The twins and I would make dinner and keep everyone occupied until Dad came home or Mom recovered.

I moved to the couch and gently touched the ice pack.

Warm.

“I’m going to get you another one.” I whispered the words.

Gideon slackening his hand was the only response.

I eased the pack away, revealing his pallor, apparent even in the dim light. The man pulled both hands against his face, as if to block out what little illumination remained.

I walked into the kitchen and then opened the freezer. Ah, six more packs. They occupied almost half the space. The other half held frozen peas, a tray of chicken breasts, ribs, an unopened package of coffee, and a frozen bottle of water.

Peculiar.

I replaced the warm pack and grabbed another, then drew a glass of water and moved back to the family room.

Gideon hadn’t moved .

I knelt before the man. “I’ve brought some water. You need to stay hydrated. Have you taken your pills, or can I fetch them for you?” I hadn’t been gone more than four hours, so it’d likely be too early.

“No pills.” The words might be weak, but the vehemence was clear.

“Now, or ever?”

“Ever.” On a heavy exhalation.

Does he mean to suffer continuously? How hardheaded of him. “Well, at least have some water. Hydration is crucial.” I placed the ice pack on the ground so I could help him into a sitting position.

“Please leave me alone.”

“Have some water, then I’ll give you a fresh ice pack. I’m afraid I’m unwilling to leave you alone.” I had little doubt construction from my home caused this.

That being said, abrupt changes in atmospheric pressure might trigger severe headaches as well.

Mom had issues with her hormones, and certain foods could cause this much pain.

Had the bacon this morning contributed? Unlikely.

If it were a trigger, it wouldn’t make sense for him to have it in the house.

Gideon sighed and struggled to sit up.

I easily held his weight. “Lean on me.”

He did just that. He managed several substantial gulps before indicating he’d had enough.

I eased him back to the couch, quickly flipping the cushion so his head would rest on the cool side. Another trick Mom’d taught me. I placed the ice pack against his forehead, and he grasped it tight. As if it were a lifeline. His sole reason for living.

“Do you have earplugs?”

“They don’t help.”

How did that make sense?

“They muffle the sound, but I hear my breathing, and that’s worse. ”

Fair enough. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to sit on the chair.”

“I don’t need a minder.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s chilly outside. I can go upstairs—”

“No.” Said quickly. Too quickly.

“All right.” I rose, feeling every one of my thirty-nine years. I might be active, but the running injury to my left knee sometimes gave me difficulty.

I moved to the recliner and contemplated.

The room was cooler than I liked. Hence the reason Gideon was under blankets.

As much as I wanted to remove my suit jacket, I feared that might cool me down too much.

I spotted another blanket and snagged it.

I placed it across my lap as I reclined, wincing at the squeak.

Gideon didn’t stir.

I yanked out my phone. My laptop would be preferable, but I’d work with what I had. As I pulled up my email program to send a message to Jean-Michel, my doctor’s words echoed in my head.

She’ll never know.