Read Online The Welcome Home Garden Club by Lori Wilde - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lori Wilde
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passed out of sight. Surely, it wasn’t Caitlyn. He must be seeing things. What would she be doing driving a florist’s van?
Curiosity had him by the short hairs, but he would bide his time. The military had given him the gift of patience he’d sorely lacked. Soon enough, he would arrive on that hill, in a staged entrance, and all hell would break loose.
Car after car passed. It looked like the entire community of six thousand was motoring up the hillside. When they buried the wealthiest man in town, it attracted folks, whether they mourned the deceased or not. Everyone secretly hoping he or she would be mentioned in the will. Gideon had no illusions on that score. Anyway, he didn’t want anything J. Foster had to offer. He was here to make sure the old man was dead, and that was it.
And to see Caitlyn.
It wasn’t something he outwardly acknowledged, but damn him, yeah, he hungered for a look at the woman who’d broken his heart.
A moment later, the hearse came into view. Black, sleek, and moving slowly, and followed by a white limousine. Gideon’s muscles tensed. His gut soured. His father’s last ride.
How many times had he wished things had been different? That J. Foster had been the kind of father who would welcome him into the fold. But the world didn’t work that way. Gideon had discovered that acts of kindness were usually self-motivated. He didn’t deceive himself about human nature. People, by and large, were a worthless lot.
What remained of his left arm throbbed from the riding he’d done. He could have taken off the mechanical arm, but he didn’t want the town to see him as half a man. Not today, anyway. Today was his coup de grâce. He wanted to look like the frickin’ Terminator.
He waited until the last of the cars had trickled past, and then he swung onto his motorcycle and started up the hill, anticipation surging his blood.
The engine vibrated with a steady sound, carrying him closer and closer to his destiny. By the time he reached the top of the hill, a bugler was blowing “Taps.” The limo and hearse were parked in the middle of the circular drive at the stone pavilion.
People dressed mostly in black sat on the stone pews or ringed the outside perimeter. The Patriot Guard stood at attention, flags flying. Looking at the guard tugged at him. Even here, under these circumstances, he was military through and through. Never mind that army had discharged him after he’d lost his arm. The military was the only thing that had saved him from certain ruin. On that score, Judge Blackthorne had been right.
You look pretty damn ruined to me. Blown-off arm. Bad attitude. Where’s the redemption in that? The voice in his head sounded exactly like J. Foster. Cruel, taunting.
He shoved the voice aside, parked the motorcycle behind the hearse. He saw heads turn as he got off the Indian and then sauntered down the aisle toward the flag-draped coffin.
Gideon wasn’t sure what he expected to feel. Triumph? Spite? Rejoicing, perhaps? But he did not feel any of those things. He stood numb, detached, barely involved in his surroundings.
Murmurs ran through the crowd.
He stopped, turned, and then he saw her standing between a stone column and the coffin, off to the side of the general gathering, not far from where the funeral home director stood.
Caitlyn.
He was hyperaware of her. As attuned to this woman as if he’d just been told that memorizing everything about her was a top secret mission. She glanced up, turned his way. Their eyes met, and his knees went to water.
Caitlyn.
Thinner, but compelling as always. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but she was the most captivating. Once his eyes lighted upon her, it was impossible to peel them off. Her pride was in her regal bearing, the stubborn set to her chin. Her soft blond hair was caught back in an elegant clip. A black skirt fell to the curve of her shapely knee. A light dusting of makeup brightened her cheeks.
He
Curiosity had him by the short hairs, but he would bide his time. The military had given him the gift of patience he’d sorely lacked. Soon enough, he would arrive on that hill, in a staged entrance, and all hell would break loose.
Car after car passed. It looked like the entire community of six thousand was motoring up the hillside. When they buried the wealthiest man in town, it attracted folks, whether they mourned the deceased or not. Everyone secretly hoping he or she would be mentioned in the will. Gideon had no illusions on that score. Anyway, he didn’t want anything J. Foster had to offer. He was here to make sure the old man was dead, and that was it.
And to see Caitlyn.
It wasn’t something he outwardly acknowledged, but damn him, yeah, he hungered for a look at the woman who’d broken his heart.
A moment later, the hearse came into view. Black, sleek, and moving slowly, and followed by a white limousine. Gideon’s muscles tensed. His gut soured. His father’s last ride.
How many times had he wished things had been different? That J. Foster had been the kind of father who would welcome him into the fold. But the world didn’t work that way. Gideon had discovered that acts of kindness were usually self-motivated. He didn’t deceive himself about human nature. People, by and large, were a worthless lot.
What remained of his left arm throbbed from the riding he’d done. He could have taken off the mechanical arm, but he didn’t want the town to see him as half a man. Not today, anyway. Today was his coup de grâce. He wanted to look like the frickin’ Terminator.
He waited until the last of the cars had trickled past, and then he swung onto his motorcycle and started up the hill, anticipation surging his blood.
The engine vibrated with a steady sound, carrying him closer and closer to his destiny. By the time he reached the top of the hill, a bugler was blowing “Taps.” The limo and hearse were parked in the middle of the circular drive at the stone pavilion.
People dressed mostly in black sat on the stone pews or ringed the outside perimeter. The Patriot Guard stood at attention, flags flying. Looking at the guard tugged at him. Even here, under these circumstances, he was military through and through. Never mind that army had discharged him after he’d lost his arm. The military was the only thing that had saved him from certain ruin. On that score, Judge Blackthorne had been right.
You look pretty damn ruined to me. Blown-off arm. Bad attitude. Where’s the redemption in that? The voice in his head sounded exactly like J. Foster. Cruel, taunting.
He shoved the voice aside, parked the motorcycle behind the hearse. He saw heads turn as he got off the Indian and then sauntered down the aisle toward the flag-draped coffin.
Gideon wasn’t sure what he expected to feel. Triumph? Spite? Rejoicing, perhaps? But he did not feel any of those things. He stood numb, detached, barely involved in his surroundings.
Murmurs ran through the crowd.
He stopped, turned, and then he saw her standing between a stone column and the coffin, off to the side of the general gathering, not far from where the funeral home director stood.
Caitlyn.
He was hyperaware of her. As attuned to this woman as if he’d just been told that memorizing everything about her was a top secret mission. She glanced up, turned his way. Their eyes met, and his knees went to water.
Caitlyn.
Thinner, but compelling as always. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, but she was the most captivating. Once his eyes lighted upon her, it was impossible to peel them off. Her pride was in her regal bearing, the stubborn set to her chin. Her soft blond hair was caught back in an elegant clip. A black skirt fell to the curve of her shapely knee. A light dusting of makeup brightened her cheeks.
He
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