something.'
Gideon smiled at Serena as he followed Ross into the house and flipped on the light in the foyer. 'I believe we can avoid using the sheet, but I'm afraid you'll have to make do with one of my shirts. I don't think we can find a nightgown for you.'
She frowned. 'But why would I need a nightgown?' She touched the sleek satin of her bodice. 'I'm wearing a nightgown.' Then emotion flared behind the vagueness of her eyes, raw and hurting emotion that threatened to burn away the comforting veil of forgetfulness.
Gideon silently cursed his lack of luck in making the seemingly innocent remark. He said quickly, 'I just thought you might want to change after you shower. Are you hungry? Maybe it would be a good idea if we found something for you to eat too.' He took her elbow and gently propelled her down the corridor in the direction of the kitchen. The pain was fading from her expression and she was casually petting Frank's head as he trailed beside her down the hallway. 'I'm not much of a gourmet cook, but I can whip up an omelet. Do you cook?'
She shook her head. 'The sisters at the convent were always more interested in feeding our souls than our bodies.' Her lips curved in a tiny smile. 'Sister Maria said we thought far too much about the worldly pleasures.'
A convent! 'I wouldn't call eating a particularly worldly pleasure.'
'You aren't Sister Maria.'
'For which I'm profoundly grateful. I'm far too irreverent to fit into a religious community.'
'I wasn't very comfortable there either.' Her smile widened to breathtaking beauty. 'I was always getting into trouble. I always laughed too much. In chapel and vespers and at-'
'Good.' His hand tightened on her elbow. 'I like a woman who laughs. The world doesn't have enough laughter to go around.' He pushed opened the door to the kitchen and flicked on the ceiling light. 'Now suppose you and Frank go sit over there at the table and watch me prepare the most splendiferous omelet you've ever tasted.'
She smiled again and he felt his breath stop in his throat. What was going on here? One minute he felt only aching sympathy and the next he was ready to pull the girl into the nearest bedroom. She was the walking wounded, for heaven's sake. He turned away and opened a cabinet above the stove. 'And you can tell me more about Sister Maria's definition of sin.'
Serena finished the last bite of omelet and set her fork down on her plate. She had been very hungry, she realized with dull surprise. She tried to remember the last time she had eaten. It had been this morning at dawn. She had shared warm croissants and strong black coffee with- She shied away from the memory with a sense of panic. The Hopi Indians. No past and no future. Only now. Now was safe and free from pain. Gideon had told her this was true, and in a shifting world of lies, his words were the only honest, solid anchor to which she could cling.
'Maybe I'm not such a bad cook after all. You managed to clean up your plate anyway.' He pushed back his chair and stood up. 'I'll get you something to drink. I should probably give milk to someone as young as you, but I hate the stuff and never keep it in the house. How about some orange juice?' He crossed the room to the refrigerator on the far side of the kitchen. 'It's the only nonalcoholic beverage I have.'
'That will be fine.' She watched the slide of muscles beneath his khaki shirt as he opened the refrigerator door. He was tall, over six feet, and every inch was lean and powerful. She suddenly had a hazy recollection of how those muscles had exploded into lethal, totally devastating force tonight in the bar. She couldn't seem to connect the memory with the man who had held her with almost feminine tenderness in the jeep, or the master Frank was gazing up at with such hopeful adoration. Surely no one could look less threatening. He was dressed in faded jeans that hung low on his lean hips and a short-sleeved khaki shirt, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the strong line of his tan throat. He was wearing brown cowboy boots, scuffed and weathered by the elements. Weathered was the word that described more about him than his boots. He looked totally experienced, as if he had gone through all the storms and droughts life could offer and had emerged not broken, only seasoned and tougher.
His skin was tanned by sun and wind to a deep bronze and laugh lines radiated from the corners of his brown eyes. His hair might have been a dark brown at one time but now it was sun- streaked, tawny, slightly tousled with… a cowlick. She smiled when she noticed that unruly lock of hair. No, she must have been mistaken about the lethal side of Gideon Brandt she thought she'd glimpsed in the bar. Who could be afraid of a man with a cowlick? 'I'm not really that young. I'm seventeen.'
'So old? I've got ten years on you.' He poured the juice into a tall glass and looked up to smile at her. Dimples. Deep slashing dimples indented his lean cheeks. The shape of his face was almost square, his features more rugged than handsome and his smile the warmest she had ever seen. She suddenly felt as if she had been enfolded in a magical fleecy blanket, gossamer light yet capable of generating sunlight and tenderness and… His gaze held her own as he walked toward her with lithe, vital grace. 'You look younger.'
'Do I?' She didn't feel young. She felt a million years old and suddenly so weary she had to keep her spine very straight to keep from falling off the chair.
He nodded and there was a flicker of understanding in his face, almost as if he had read her thoughts. 'You'll feel young again, you know,' he said gently. 'Maybe you'll never be a child again, that's probably gone forever, but youth remains.
Sometimes we have to work to keep it alive in us, but it's important we never lose a sense of youth and joy.' He grinned and the creases deepened around his eyes and in the long dimples on each side of his mouth. 'Personally, I intend to still be a kid when I am a hundred and two.'
'I think you'll make it,' she said softly.
'I'm sure I will.' He set the glass of orange juice down in front of her. 'And so will you. Now, drink. You'll need your vitamins if you want to survive and stay healthy.' His gaze met hers. 'And you do want to survive. Life can be damn good, and you can solve any problem if you just face up to it.' He reached down and patted the dog's head. 'Ask Frank here. He's a prime example.'
'He had help.'
'So will you, if you'll accept it.' Gideon carefully kept his gaze on the dog's mottled fur. 'And he probably didn't have any help when he lost that leg. He survived it all by himself and still didn't lose the capacity to care. Toughen up, but keep the loving. It's important, Serena.' He straightened. 'Now I'd better stop this preaching and feed this particular survivor. He's been giving me a guilt trip ever since I started cooking your omelet.'
'I noticed.' Serena took a drink of the orange juice. 'I also noticed you gave him half of that pound of bacon you sprinkled on my omelette.'
He made a face. 'So I'm a sucker.'
'That's what I've been telling you for two years.' Ross stood in the doorway. He strolled forward, a grin lighting his plain features. 'Do you know why I had to put Frank's bowl and food out on the patio, Serena? The first two days after we brought him home, he gained five pounds and we each lost three.'
Serena laughed. In spite of Ross's caustic tone, it was clear the bond of affection between the two men was very strong. Strange. They appeared to be complete opposites, both in physique and personality. Ross was a few inches under six feet and built with blocky muscularity and deep-chested strength. He was closer to forty than thirty, and his dark hair was flecked with silver. The blue eyes looking into her own were shrewd, and she had an idea the affectionate smile softening his face as he regarded Gideon could turn cynical in the flicker of a second.
Ross turned to her. 'Your chamber awaits. It's the first guest room at the top of the stairs.'
'She has to finish her orange juice first,' Gideon said. 'Stay with her while I take Frank out and feed him. Did you light the hot water heater?'
Ross nodded and explained to Serena. 'The gas heater is an antique and the pilot light keeps going out on us.' His lips twisted. 'Another thing we're going to get fixed.' He waved his hand. 'Go on and feed the bottomless pit. I'll watch over your other… over Serena.'
Stray. He had been about to call her a stray, Serena thought. The realization brought no resentment. Rather it filled her with a comfortable sense of security to be referred to as belonging in any way to Gideon Brandt. He obviously showered those he took under his wing with warmth and love and she desperately needed that security to help fight off the darkness surrounding her.
She watched Gideon leave the kitchen, the big dog skittering unevenly at his heels. 'He's so kind,' she said huskily. 'Have you known him long?'
'A few years. We met in Tucson and took to each other right away. We've been together ever since.' He sat
