Page 36 of Gideon's Gratitude

“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 aboutyourfamily?”

“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.”

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