Chapter 8
Gunner called his dad to tell him where he was going, then got to the church ahead of the family and waited in the car until after they’d all gone inside.
The dining hall was filled with people milling about and keeping the trail hot between the bathrooms before sitting down to eat.
He paused in the doorway, searching the crowd, and spotted her almost immediately.
It was already obvious that Carl was in her personal space and using every excuse he could to touch her.
It was Gunner’s first introduction to a “get your hands off my woman” feeling. Even if she wasn’t, he realized how much he wanted her to be.
“To hell with that,” he muttered and headed toward them with single intent, then walked up to her as if Carl wasn’t even there, slid his hand beneath the hair on her neck, and kissed the side of her cheek.
“Sorry I’m late, darlin’. I had to make sure Dad and Pearl got home.
Come sit and cool off. I’ll get you something cold to drink and some food. ”
“I’m just glad you’re here. The cold drink sounds wonderful. Not so sure about the food,” she said.
Carl had yet to close his mouth. The man was huge and disgustingly handsome, and even worse, seemed to have an in with Holly he knew nothing about.
“Holly, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Carl asked.
Gunner turned as if seeing him for the first time and introduced himself. “Gunner Kingston, and you are?”
“Uh… Carl Warwick. Holly and I are cousins.”
Gunner nodded. “Cousins. Nice to meet you,” he said and ushered Holly to a table where Garrett and his mother, Trudy, were already seated. “Sit here, honey. I’ll get your plate; save me a seat.”
As soon as he walked away, Trudy reached for Holly’s hand. “Are you okay? You’re too pale.”
“Just exhausted, Granny. I invited Gunner to eat with us. When are Alicia and Carl leaving?”
“After the dinner. They packed and loaded up their car this morning.”
“Thank God,” Holly whispered. “Carl is a bit much.”
Trudy’s eyes widened. “Was he bothering you?”
“Not anymore,” Holly said and grinned. “Gunner made sure of that.”
“Oh, good grief. I’m sorry, baby. You should have said something,” Trudy hissed.
Holly shrugged. “Daddy doesn’t need the grief.”
Trudy sighed. “I understand. Carl was spoiled rotten. He’s nearly thirty and still lives at home with his mother, for God’s sake.”
* * *
Carl was still in shock from the big man’s sudden presence and followed him to the buffet.
“So where are you from?” Carl asked.
“Here… Crossroads, same as Holly,” Gunner said and picked up a plate.
Carl frowned. “So, you live here.”
“No, I live in Dallas. I’m a homicide detective with the Dallas PD. What do you do for a living?” he asked.
“Uh… I…” And at that moment, Carl’s mother waved him down. “Oh, excuse me. I’m being paged,” he said, pointing toward his mother, who had her arm in the air, waving at him, and then he scurried off without answering.
“And that’s the end of that,” Gunner muttered.
He gave the buffet a quick glance—eyeing the cheesy toppings on most of the casseroles, the buttery juices in bowls of vegetables, six versions of macaroni and cheese, and equal amounts of church potatoes—and knew none of that would appeal to someone with a queasy tummy.
He headed straight for a platter of biscuits, picked up two, forked up a thin slice of baked ham, and made her two little ham biscuits.
Then he added a spoonful of dilled potato salad, slid a piece of coconut pie on the plate, swooped up a cup of sweet tea, and headed back to where she was sitting and set it in front of her.
Travis was behind him with a plate for his granny and pie for his dad.
Holly looked at the plate, and then up at Gunner. “You are scary good at reading the room. Thank you.”
He felt her praise from the inside out. “I’ll be right back.”
Gunner and Travis walked back to the buffet together and then picked up their plates. Gunner could only guess what Travis was feeling, but he also knew that sympathy was not what he needed.
“Somebody raised you right, taking care of your grandmother’s needs first. You’re going to be okay, Travis. We make plans, and life drop-kicks us onto a new path, whether we like it or not, right?”
Travis paused, eyeing the man’s demeanor. Everybody in Crossroads knew their story. And everybody knew how Jacob Kingston’s three sons came to his rescue a couple of years ago, when he was nearly killed in a robbery at his bar. “Do you like my sister?” he asked.
“Yes. Not sure where she is with it, but is that okay with you?” Gunner asked.
Travis nodded.
Gunner put a spoonful of church potatoes on his plate and then ham and two kinds of salads, and he skipped dessert.
“What’s in those potatoes?” Travis asked.
Gunner shrugged. “Not real sure, but the jalapenos I saw decorating the top gives me hope that they have some spice to them. Mostly they’re scalloped potatoes with a buttload of cheese.”
Travis grinned, scooped some onto his plate, and by the time they got back to the table to sit down, he was walking with his head up and his shoulders back.
Holly already told him whether he was ready for it or not, he’d been given big shoes to stand in.
Lee was dead. His mother was dead. And he was still here, so that meant he needed to live his best life for the friend he’d lost and for the mother who’d wanted all of his dreams to come true.
By the time the meal was over, Carl Warwick had seen enough from where he and his mother were sitting to know his chances of snagging a distant cousin for a wife were slim to none.
And Holly had seen enough of Gunner to know that if he ever let someone love him, he would give it back a thousandfold. She wanted him. And she wanted to be that woman, but time would tell.
It was difficult to get a bite of food chewed and swallowed before someone from the community would stop by their table with the same words of sympathy and/or asking pointed questions too personal to answer.
Finally, it was Holly who initiated their exit. “Dad, can we please go home now?”
“Yes. I just need to thank the ladies for providing the food for us,” Garrett said and got up from the table.
At that point, the rest of them stood as well.
Gunner caught Carl Warwick eyeing Holly again and slid his arm around her shoulder.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said.
She leaned against him. “My white knight.”
Travis was right behind them with Trudy on his arm.
The limo from the funeral home was parked at the front door, and the driver was standing outside, waiting. When he saw them coming, he began opening doors.
The wind was whipping the skirt of Holly’s dress and putting more tangles in her curls that she would have to brush out later, but right now she didn’t care. She was so tired her legs were shaking.
Gunner could see she was moving on autopilot.
“Darlin’, I know you feel like the world’s been cut out from under you, and that’s part of the grief.
But what you need to focus on now is that you are no longer on any schedule.
Your time is your own, to sleep and rest when you want.
To still cry when you want. Tomorrow will be the first day of a new reality for all of you.
The business of death is behind you. It doesn’t alleviate any level of sadness or grief.
But your responsibilities to your mom are over. Right?”
A wave of understanding moved through her. She nodded, stumbled, and he caught her. They stopped, giving her time to regain her composure.
“I know we made a promise to each other back in Dallas not to lose touch. If you’re on the same page, when you’re ready to be out in the world again or you just want company, call me. I owe you a meal at the Yellow Rose before you go back to Dallas,” Gunner said.
“Count on it. If it’s not too personal to ask, are you for sure moving home?”
“I am so sure that you could bet a million dollars on it. We can talk about the whys and what-ifs another day,” he said. They resumed the walk, but he was holding on to her now and didn’t turn loose until she was seated in the limo.
He stepped back as the driver closed the door, then stayed, watching until the limousine was out of sight.
* * *
The Tumbleweed parking lot was full when Gunner got home. He made a quick change out of dress clothes, then he sat down at the kitchen table with his laptop and began checking his phone and email for messages.
There were text messages from at least eight of the detectives from his department, including his partner, Cliff, expressing their outrage at the bounty and hoping he was okay, and there was one message from Lieutenant Samuels regarding the man on the motorcycle.
An update on your would-be assassin. He was patched up enough to be arraigned and has been moved to a prison hospital. Also, word on the street is that the hit has been officially called off. Hope you are okay.
Gunner paused, frowned, and reread the message three more times, trying to figure out what there was about it that seemed off. Then the skin crawled on the back of his neck when it hit him.
There had never been any “word on the street.” It was never public knowledge that a hit had been issued. Not even Gunner knew it until the man on the Yamaha. Dixon never admitted being the one who’d set it in motion, so how did Samuels come to know this? Where did he get his information?
His heart was racing as he picked up the phone and called Asher. It rang twice, and then his brother’s voice was in his ear.
“Hey, kid… You okay?”
“I just got a message from my boss, asking me if I was okay and telling me that word on the street was that the hit had officially been called off.”
“Okay… Isn’t that good news?” Asher asked.