Page 81 of Warrior's Cross

Blake pointed to his own foot and shook his head. “Broke his foot,” he explained almost silently.

Raising one brow, Cameron almost looked back into the room before he stopped himself. Shaking his head slightly, he started walking again. Not his business. How Julian might have broken his foot was not his business, nor was the fact that he seemed to be hiding Blake’s important documents inside a piece of furniture. None of it was his business.

And that was his own fault.

“Mr. Cross is cataloguing my artwork and antiques in case anything gets damaged in the move,” Blake explained to Cameron and several of the others who had rejoined them. “If he tells you to do something, you do it, and you do it fast. Otherwise, just stay out of his way,” he advised. “If you have aquestion, ask Preston or myself. Stay out of Mr. Cross’ way,” he reiterated slowly.

The staff members buzzed quietly over “Mr. Cross” and all the gossip he represented as Cameron drew in a long, slow breath, trying to settle the nerves that still plagued him. He followed Blake to the front, where his boss began collecting the volunteers and telling them just exactly what they would be doing. Heavy lifting, mostly. And a lot of it.

What surprised Cameron was that apparently Julian really was there to take care of the antiques and artwork, because as it turned out, he seemed to know what he was talking about. More than once Cameron heard his ex-lover’s voice rattling off the details of the provenance of some random bit of artwork or an antique piece for whoever was writing it down. Why had Cameron never known that about him? Frowning, Cameron told himself to stop thinking about it and just do what he was told.

They worked in groups of three and four to move the solid furniture. There was a lot of moaning and groaning, but the morning was uneventful except for Charles smashing his thumb in a cabinet door that hadn’t been secured.

By the time noon came around, Cameron had almost convinced himself that Julian wasn’t there. Almost. It was about that time when Preston came through with a pad of paper, taking lunch orders.

“Where are you going?” Blake asked the quiet driver as he stretched his back.

“Mr. Cross said to tell you that you could have Wendy’s,” Preston answered evenly.

Cameron and those within hearing distance paused and turned to stare. Blake Nichols owned a four-star restaurant. He didn’t frequent fast food drive-thrus. Blake muttered, but to everyone’s surprise, he gave Preston his order and returned to work without a word of argument.

Cameron listened as the others made their requests, and when Preston approached he just shook his head. “No, thank you,” he murmured. His stomach was still churning, and he didn’t want to risk actually being ill.

“Are you certain, sir?” Preston asked with raised eyebrows. “I’m afraid there won’t be more food until nightfall,” he warned.

Wrinkling his nose, Cameron sighed. “Get me one of those salad bowls, please,” he requested. He would just stick it into a cooler with the drinks in case he wanted it later.

“Very well, sir,” Preston responded as he wrote down the order and turned away. He stopped at Blake’s side as he left and turned to him, lowering his voice as he spoke. Cameron wasn’t able to hear what he said.

“Where’s he taking it?” Blake asked, loud enough for Cameron to hear.

“He hasn’t said, sir,” Preston answered in a low voice that just barely carried to Cameron.

“You don’t know?” Blake asked incredulously.

“You know how he is, sir. He insisted on going alone,” Preston answered with a shrug. He slid his pad of paper into a pocket. “And he wants to make the first trip himself to make certain it’s safe before anyone else accompanies him to help.”

“You’re not going with him?”

“He insisted.”

Blake sighed heavily but nodded in agreement, and Preston left without looking back.

Cameron frowned. Something was odd, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Blake was the one moving, and he and Julian both had repeatedly alluded to the fact that Blake was somehow in charge of things, but today Julian sure seemed to be calling the shots. Cameron had never known Blake to give in so quietly to anyone under any circumstance. Perhaps Julian and Blake were closer friends than he knew.

Shaking his head, he turned from the almost-empty room and walked out into the hallway, heading for the downstairs powder room.

When he looked up from his feet, Julian stood with a large parcel in his hands directly in front of him at the other end of the hall. The package was obviously a painting or something similar; it was wrapped in brown paper and secured with blue tape. Julian knelt down, the action awkward and difficult with the unwieldy boot on his foot, and he leaned the package against the wall to join several others. When he heard Cameron approaching, he turned his head slightly and then looked quickly away, down at the wrapped painting once more.

He shook his head as he reached into his breast pocket for a large permanent marker. “Hello, Cameron,” he greeted softly without looking up.

Cameron stopped in place, eyes settling on the man who had been his lover. “Hello, Julian,” he answered faintly. He licked his bottom lip nervously. He’d have to move past Julian on his way to the bathroom.

He didn’t know if he could physically do it. He scrambled for something else to say. “Ah. Blake said you broke your foot?”

“Several times,” Julian answered in the soft, formal voice Cameron knew so well as he wrote on the brown paper, labeling the painting. He didn’t look over at Cameron, and he seemed to be concentrating very hard on not doing so.

Cameron nodded, feeling the awkward tension crank up. He wanted to stand and look at Julian, to look his fill and listen to that gentle, barely there voice say anything at all, but he couldn’t stand it. It caused too much pain for him to stand still. “Excuse me,” he whispered as he brushed past to flee toward the bathroom.

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