Page 49 of Gideon's Gratitude

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?

Chapter Eight

Archer

Watching Gideon cook was a treat. Certainly unlike anything I’d done since early childhood when I kept Mom company in the kitchen. Once the twins had come along, those special times between the two of us ended.

Cherry was the contented child while Cherish was the holy terror. The next few had been relatively sedate until Chelsea’s arrival. Then the proverbial Hell had broken loose, and sanity was never seen again.

Why my parents decided eight children was necessary was truly beyond me. But I loved my siblings. Loved their spouses, the nieces and nephews…

Family gatherings were instruments of torture. My parents’ massive sprawling house could barely contain the mayhem.

Given her advancing years, my mother finally agreed to have assistance in the kitchen.

That meant Cherry, Cherish, Cherish’s wife Maris, and Chuck’s wife Tilly descending on the house the day before any major event and cooking up a storm.

I attempted to be the last to arrive and the first to leave.

Didn’t always work out that way.

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