AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He’d bought a big-screen smart TV so he and Noah could watch movies and play video games and furnished the second bedroom with twin beds in anticipation of eventual sleepovers with Jorge. He also got a love seat that pulled out into a bed and some bean-bag chairs because, heck, what kid didn’t love a bean bag? Plus, he had a waffle maker, a blender for smoothies, and a grill for toasted cheese sandwiches.
Unfortunately, the mental inventory of his kitchen wasn’t pushing away thoughts of Rosie. Of how he’d almost kissed her. Of how he wanted her with raw need. A desire he had no business feeling.
Not after what he’d let happen to his team. Not after what happened to Karmen.
As always when he thought of Karmen, it was with a mixture of guilt and grief. And just like always, he reached for the last thing she’d given him. The only piece of her he had.
He kept the painting locked away in the bottom cupboard of the bookshelf, locked away as if he could lock away all the emotions that went with it. When she’d given it to him, Karmen had explained it belonged to her grandmother. He could hear her now, telling him the story.
“Abuela said it was very special, magical, and that because of its powerful magic, I would one day be compelled to give it away. She said the power in it must be passed on and that I would know the right moment to let it go.” She’d held it out to him. “And now you are the one who needs it most.”
He remembered laughing off her story, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with a painting out in the damned sandbox anyway. Especially when he’d never kissed Karmen, never touched her, never told her he had feelings for her. Feelings that seemed inappropriate for a woman he worked with. But because they were friends, and she’d been so insistent, he’d taken the little painting and tucked it in with his small stash of personal items.
Two days later, his entire team and Karmen were dead.
And all he had left of her was the painting.
He wished she’d told him more, explained what he needed to do instead of reeling off a bunch of magical mumbo-jumbo. He would have done whatever she wanted, fulfilled the legacy, but he didn’t have a clue what to do with it. Since it had come from Karmen’s grandmother, Gideon guessed the artist might be Mexican, but it was signed only with initials.
What exactly could the painting mean? What was its power, its magic? On the surface, it was a religious depiction of two angels, one with dark skin and hair, the other light-skinned and light-haired, their arms outstretched to each other, their index fingertips touching.
All he knew was that the angels hadn’t saved Karmen. The painting hadn’t saved her. And Gideon sure as hell hadn’t saved her.
The artwork in his hands made his heart hurt, made his eyes ache, made every bone in his body feel like it was breaking. Karmen had said it should stay with him until he felt the moment was right to pass it on. But what if he was never able to let go? Not only of the painting, but of Karmen and his guilt over the deaths of his team members? All his fault, all his responsibility.
Warm fingers touched his neck, and Gideon belatedly realized Noah was slipping his arm around his shoulder. He hadn’t even realized his nephew was there. He’d been buried in his memories, his guilt.
“It’s okay, Uncle Gideon, I get sad sometimes too.”
Awe passed through him, that this amazing, beautiful, wonderful child knew exactly the words Gideon needed to hear.
So many times, he’d held Karmen’s painting. So many times, he’d held back tears, never letting himself cry despite the shame, the guilt, the unworthiness. But in this moment, with Noah’s gentle words ringing in his head, he laid the painting aside and wrapped the child in his arms.
Then he finally let out the tears he’d denied for so long.
He didn’t know how hard he squeezed Noah or how long Noah held him. Until his nephew said, “I’m ready for bed. Will you tuck me in, Uncle Gideon?”
“Yeah, sure thing, kiddo.” Gideon picked him up.
And as he carried the boy to his room, Noah reached up to wipe the tears from Gideon’s cheeks.
Chapter Fourteen
“This is a great hike, Gideon. How’d you find this place?” Rosie asked.
He had picked up Rosie and Jorge at nine to beat the heat, then taken them to a rarely used trail in the Santa Cruz Mountains. “Some locals told me about it.”
The redwood trees were immense, bathing the trail in cool shade. Squirrels darted between the branches, and a couple of minutes ago, two deer had bounded across the path in front of them. There were no car engines, no gas fumes, just an earthy peace that settled into Gideon’s bones.
The boys were racing ahead, then running back, probably getting twice as much exercise as he and Rosie were. “Watch out for poison oak, you two,” Rosie called after them. She’d had them all put on a protective lotion too.
He felt strangely light after last night, when Noah’s little-boy hug had broken some sort of dam inside him. And following Rosie up the trail added to his sense of lightness. He shouldn’t be looking at the gorgeous sway of her hips, but it was impossible not to notice everything about her. Not just how sexy she was, but that she was a good mom to Jorge, and Noah too. A good friend to Ari. Not to mention smart and talented and dedicated.
“Last night Jorge wanted me to read more of Revolutionary War on Wednesday,” she said, “but I told him we needed to wait for you and Noah. You did such a great job answering their questions the other night.” She turned around and walked backward a moment. “I hope it wasn’t hard for you to read it. I know it’s not about your war, but it could still be disturbing for you.”
“Maybe a bit,” he admitted. “War is war. No matter what the time period is.” He shrugged, trying to make it look offhand. “But I don’t mind telling them.”
She cupped a hand around her mouth conspiratorially. “What was that about sand in your underwear?”
