A Time To Keep. Rochelle AlersЧитать онлайн книгу.
you like me to show it to you?” He got the reaction he sought when Gwen gasped and her eyes widened. “I personally prefer the Glock to the standard police-issue .38 revolver.”
Gwen’s gaze shifted from his Cheshire cat grin to the deadly looking firearm strapped to his waist. “I don’t need to see it, Shiloh. What do you want me to do?”
“Stay here.”
Recovering quickly, her eyes narrowed. “This is the second time you’ve told me to stay as if I were a dog.”
It was Shiloh’s turn to give a questioning look. One eyebrow lifted higher than the other and that was when Gwen knew who he reminded her of.
“Do you know that you look like The Rock?”
“The Rock?”
“Dwayne Johnson. The wrestler-turned-actor,” she explained. “His complexion is lighter than yours, and your eyes aren’t dark like his, but the two of you could pass for brothers.”
Shiloh had lost count of the number of times people mentioned his resemblance to the wrestler, yet always claimed he’d never heard of the man.
“I suppose it’s true about everyone having a double,” he said glibly. “How about you, Gwen? Do you have someone who looks like you?”
“Yes, in fact I do. My first cousin Lauren and I look enough alike to be sisters. The only difference is that I’m about an inch taller and rounder than she is in certain places despite the fact that she’s had three babies.”
“Have many children do you have?” Shiloh asked, as his penetrating gaze moved slowly over her body.
“None.”
“So, it’s just going to be you and Mr. Taylor living here?”
She shook her head. “There is no Mr. Taylor, aside from my father and Uncle Roy. Will my marital status also go into your police report?”
Shiloh went completely still. Miss Gwendolyn Taylor was anything but shy, timid or submissive. “No, it won’t.”
Crossing her arms under her breasts, she took a step and looked directly into a pair of the most mesmerizing eyes she’d ever seen on a man. The gold was the perfect match for the undertones in his smooth-shaven jaw, the green dramatic and hypnotic.
“Good.”
“Why good?”
“I always like to maintain a modicum of anonymity.”
“That’s not going to be an easy feat down here.”
“Why not?” Gwen asked.
“We’re in the bayou. That means everyone gets to know everyone else. The fact that you live out here may make it a little easier for you, but I wouldn’t count on complete anonymity.”
Shiloh wanted to tell Gwen that only Gwendolyn Pickering was able to keep her private life private. Those she’d invited to Bon Temps swore an oath never to reveal what went on behind the door once they crossed the threshold.
“What about yourself, Sheriff Harper? Does everyone know your business?”
“I’m a public servant and that means my life is an open book,” he admitted.
“You don’t have a private life?”
He hesitated, then said, “Right now I don’t.”
The journalist in Gwen wanted to know more about the sheriff, but she hadn’t moved more than fifteen hundred miles to get involved, even if it was on a superficial level, with a man. Besides, she didn’t know whether Shiloh was married, engaged or involved with a woman.
“I’ll wait here for you to complete your search,” she said, deftly dropping the topic and letting Shiloh know she wanted him gone.
Shiloh averted his gaze from the softly curved luscious mouth. “I’ll try to be quick about it.” He switched on a flashlight and headed for the staircase.
His footsteps were muffled by the pile of the well-worn carpet lining the winding staircase. He hadn’t lied to Gwen about his private life. He hadn’t had one in three years, not since his divorce, and not since he’d left the district attorney’s office to serve out his father’s term as sheriff after Virgil Harper was gunned down during a botched bank robbery.
Flipping on a light switch on the wall at the top of the stairs, he saw firsthand the fading beauty of Bon Temps concealed under dust and cobwebs. The last two years of Gwendolyn Pickering’s life had been shrouded in mystery. She’d stopped receiving visitors and rarely ventured off the property.
Shiloh entered and exited bedrooms attached by adjoining sitting rooms and baths. He checked the locks on the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling French doors in the bedrooms overlooking the rear.
It appeared as if no one, other than whoever had covered the furniture with dustcovers, had returned to the house since Gwendolyn Pickering passed away. One thing he knew was that the house was not fit for human habitation—at least not until it was aired out.
He returned to the first floor by a back stairway and found himself outside an expansive state-of-the-art, eat-in kitchen. A pantry and laundry room were set up in an alcove behind the kitchen. His booted feet left distinctive footprints on the tiled floor.
Turning the faucet on in one of the stainless steel twin sinks, Shiloh waited for the water to run clear. There were two things Gwen did not have to concern herself with: water and electricity. Both were in working order.
Returning to the front of the house, he found Gwen where he’d left her, in the living room. She stood next to the massive crystal chandelier resting on a drop cloth in a corner.
“You can’t stay here tonight,” he announced in a voice layered with an authoritative undertone.
Gwen turned, an expression of indecision freezing her delicate features. “What?”
Shiloh closed the distance between them. “The house is safe, but you can’t stay,” he repeated. “The air quality is unhealthy. This place has been closed up for months and should be dusted and aired out before you sleep here.”
She groaned audibly. “It’s that bad?”
He nodded. “Yes, it’s that bad.”
Gwen worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Is there a hotel or motel around here that I can check into?”
“The nearest motel is right off the interstate. But on the other hand, Jessup’s boardinghouse is just up the road.”
There was no need for her to agonize over where she would spend the night. After driving more than twelve hours Gwen loathed getting behind the wheel of her car again. Her eyelids fluttered. “I’ll stay at the boardinghouse. How do I get there?”
“I’ll show you.” Shiloh extended his hand. “Give me your key and I’ll lock up.”
Delving her hand into the pocket of her slacks, Gwen handed him the key, then turned on her heels and walked out of the house, feeling the heat of Shiloh’s gaze on her retreating back.
She got into her car and waited for Shiloh Harper to turn off the lights and lock up Bon Temps. And for the second time that night she found herself following his vehicle.
* * *
Gwen’s eyelids drooped as she waited for the proprietor of Jessup’s boardinghouse to swipe her credit card. She was past being tired; she was exhausted and hungry. She’d left Chattanooga, Tennessee earlier that morning, stopping only to refuel her car.
Forcing herself to stand upright, she gave Shiloh a half smile. He’d brought in her luggage and offered to wait until she had gotten a room in the family-owned establishment. “How can I thank you for all you’ve done for me?”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Shiloh