30 #2
“He only planned dates where he came to my place. At first, I thought it was because it was convenient. Then I realized he liked me fine as long as his friends didn’t have to see me.”
Gordon’s eyes sharpened with anger.
Talia looked down at the list in her hand, though she was no longer reading it. “After a while, I decided I was better off alone. So I focused on my career.”
He stepped closer. “Those men were fools.”
She shook her head. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it sound simple.”
“It is simple.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is to me.”
Talia looked at him.
Gordon’s face was hard with sincerity. “A man who looks at you and worries what other people think of your body is a fool. A man who touches you in private but hides you in public is a coward. A man who has you and makes you feel like you need to earn being wanted does not deserve you.”
Her throat tightened.
“Gordon.”
“What?”
“You’re twenty-two.”
His eyes narrowed. “And?”
“You talk like a man who has been waiting his whole life to defend women from bad boyfriends.”
“I know what it feels like to be made to think you should be grateful for scraps.”
The words silenced her.
He held her gaze.
“So I know when somebody tried to feed you scraps and call it affection.”
Talia looked away first.
If she kept looking at him, she would either cry or kiss him again.
Possibly both.
Neither was acceptable in front of a truck bed full of cattle-drive supplies.
She cleared her throat. “Next item.”
“Talia.”
“Gordon.”
He let her have the change of subject.
For now.
They worked longer, drifting into safer territory. Hobbies. Music. Movies. Foods they liked. Places they had been. Places they wanted to go.
Talia admitted she liked to dance.
Gordon paused mid-lift. “What kind?”
“All kinds, when no one is watching.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
She smiled. “I used to go dancing with friends in Houston sometimes. Clubs, parties, weddings, whatever. But I’ve always wanted to learn ballroom dancing.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“No partner.”
“You need a partner?”
“For ballroom, yes. Generally.”
“Couldn’t take a class?”
“I could, but I wanted to learn with someone. To have a partner. Someone consistent.” She shrugged. “Never found anyone interested.”
Gordon carried a box to the truck, then came back with a thoughtful expression.
“What about you?” she asked before he could say anything. “What do you like besides fixing things and letting children steal your hat?”
“Reading.”
Talia smiled. “That fits.”
“It does?”
“Yes.”
He looked faintly suspicious. “How?”
“You’re quiet and observant. You think before speaking. You like understanding people. Readers are often like that.”
He looked away, but not before she saw how much the answer touched him.
“I used to read a lot,” he said.
“Used to?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
His expression shifted.
The air changed.
Talia knew the story before he told it would hurt.
“Beau and Logan happened,” he said.
She lowered the list.
Gordon leaned against a stack of feed sacks, arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the storage wall. “I had to hide it from them. They tortured me when they found my books. Burned them sometimes. Threw them out. Called me names.”
“Like sissy?” Talia asked softly.
His eyes flicked to hers.
“That one?”
“Yes. And worse.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded, accepting it quietly.
“Where did the love of books come from?” she asked.
“My stepmother.”
“Bettie?”
“Yes.”
Talia went still.
That surprised her.
Gordon’s relationship with Bettie was a strange knot of gratitude, pain, distance, and reluctant respect. The woman had not loved him, but she had taken him in. Fed him. Clothed him. Given him a roof. Stopped the worst of Beau and Logan when she saw it.
And apparently, without meaning to, had given him books.
“She had a reading room,” Gordon said. “Not big, but it had shelves on three walls and a chair near the window. Nobody went in there much except her.”
“Did she let you?”
“Eventually.”
“How did that happen?”
He gave a half smile. “She caught me in there with one of her books.”
Talia smiled back. “Stealing?”
“Borrowing without courage.”
“Ah. Very different crime.”
“I thought she would yell.”
“Did she?”
“No.” His expression softened with memory. “She came into the room, looked at me, and asked what I was reading.”
Talia leaned against the shelf beside him. “What were you reading?”
Gordon’s half smile deepened, embarrassed and sweet.
“It had men dueling on the cover.”
Talia blinked. “Men dueling?”
“Yes. Swords drawn. Very dramatic. I thought there would be a lot of sword fighting.”
“And?”
“There was one duel in the whole book.”
She laughed.
His eyes warmed. “Turned out it was a romance novel.”
Talia’s laugh grew. “Oh, Gordon.”
“It was a good book.”
“I’m not judging. I love that.”
“I read the whole thing. Then another. Bettie told me if I was going to be in that room, I had to return books where I found them and not bend the pages.”
“That was her permission?”
“Yes.”
His smile faded slightly. “For a while, I read anything she had. Romances, mysteries, old classics, family sagas. I didn’t care. I liked being in there. It was quiet. Nobody bothered me.”
“Until they did.”
His gaze dropped.
“Until Beau and Logan found me with one of those books. A romance. They made sure I never forgot it.”
Talia’s chest tightened.
“They called me sissy. Said I was weak. Said I liked women’s books because I wasn’t a real man. Tore pages out. Threw one into the fireplace while I watched.”
“Gordon.”
“I never went back to read again.”
The words were quiet.
Too quiet.
Talia wanted to touch him.
She did not know if she had the right.
Instead, she asked, “Have you taken the habit up again?”
He shook his head. “Not really, I have one or two.”
“Why not?”
He gave a small shrug. “Habit, I suppose. Some things stay forbidden in your mind even after nobody is there to punish you.”
Talia knew that feeling.
Too well.
Gordon looked toward the open doorway, where the truck sat half-loaded in the sun. “But I might now.”
“You should.”
“I have my own place. That empty second bedroom…” He paused, as if the thought was forming as he spoke. “Maybe I’ll make it into a reading room.”
Talia smiled, soft and full. “A reading room.”
“Yes.”
“A chair near the window?”
His eyes met hers.
For a moment, the storage building felt quiet again but not like before.
This quiet did not ask them to hide.
It gave them space to imagine something better.
Gordon looked at the list in her hand. “Next item?”
Talia glanced down, smiling despite the ache in her chest.
“Portable camp stove. Two.”
He pushed off from the feed sacks and went to find them.
Talia watched him move through the storage building, this man who had been denied rooms and names and books and tenderness, now planning a reading room in a cottage that belonged to him.
Her article shifted again in her mind.
Not scandal.
Not redemption.
Not rescue.
A man reclaiming the pieces of himself that cruelty had tried to burn.