Chapter 20 Gideon
GIDEON
Gideon paced the length of the lodge porch for the third time, boots scuffing against the hardwood.
He’d stepped out to give Juliana and her mom space, but the longer the minutes dragged, the harder it was to stay away.
He’d been grateful for the call from Cassie asking him to come to the main lodge, because if he stood outside his own cabin any longer, he might just barge in and demand that awful woman leave his wife alone.
And yes, he recognized that he was only willing to think of her as his wife when it was convenient. But when it started to sound a little too good? He had to remember that she hadn’t chosen to stay. Yet.
His chest felt too tight, like every breath fought against the weight pressing down.
Everything in him screamed to keep Juliana—fight for her, hold her, tell her she belonged here, with him.
But logic was louder tonight. Logic said she had a glittering career waiting for her, that she could do better than a rancher with duct tape solutions and crooked cabinet doors.
Logic said she deserved more than a man who’d already messed up plenty.
He raked a hand through his hair and forced himself back into motion, ducking into the supply closet and tugging down a box of extension cords from the barn dance that needed detangling.
Busy. That was what he needed. Something to do with his hands besides clenching them.
Something to remind him he had a place here, even if it wasn’t at her side.
But every coil of cord only wound the knot in his stomach tighter.
The sound of heels on wood broke his rhythm. He turned, box in hand, just in time to see Juliana’s mom glide toward him, coat draped elegantly over one arm. The same perfume that had filled his cabin earlier wafted ahead of her, sharp and deliberate.
“Mr. Reynolds,” she said brightly, her tone syrupy enough to coat the walls. “What a pleasure to finally meet you properly.”
He shifted the box, unease crawling over his skin. “Gideon’s fine, ma’am.”
Her smile widened, all polished charm. “Well, Gideon, I can see why my daughter’s so taken with this place. The lodge, the chapel, the land—it’s all so . . . substantial. And such a legacy to be part of. You must be very proud to be such an important part of it now.”
His grip on the cardboard tightened. She didn’t say the word inheritance, but it hung in the air between them all the same.
“I’m proud of my family,” he said evenly, careful to keep his voice neutral.
“Oh, of course. Family is everything.” She tilted her head, eyes flicking over him with too much calculation. “You’ve clearly stepped into your role here beautifully. I imagine the future of Redemption Ridge is in capable hands.”
Gideon’s stomach turned. He’d been on the receiving end of compliments before—genuine ones from folks in town, teasing ones from Zeke or his mom. But this wasn’t that. This was flattery with teeth. The kind that tried to measure what she might gain.
“Will you be staying, Mrs. Emerson?” He was dreading the answer to the question. She had just shown up. It was probably wishful thinking to assume she’d be heading out so quickly.
His mother-in-law sniffed—like she’d stepped in something offensive.
“Call me Elaine. And no. Unfortunately, it appears this lovely ranch is fully booked. I’ll be staying in Grand Junction tonight and fly out in the morning.
I need to get back to Richard anyway. And Juliana was very clear that she didn’t want my company. ”
He managed a polite nod. “Safe travels, ma’am.”
Something flickered in her eyes, maybe annoyance at being dismissed, but she masked it quickly with another smile. “Merry Christmas, Gideon. Whatever my daughter says, I look forward to getting to know you. You are my son-in-law, after all.”
He barely resisted the urge to shudder. “Merry Christmas.”
Gideon watched her leave, the echo of her heels fading into silence. The slimy feeling lingered, like he needed to wash his hands. He hated that Juliana had grown up with that kind of voice shaping her life—saccharine words with sharp edges underneath.
By the time he made it back to her room, the box of extension cords forgotten on a table, his heart was pounding again.
Juliana was propped against the pillows, face pale and flushed from fever, but her eyes found him the second he stepped inside. He didn’t miss the faint redness around them, the way her fingers twisted in the blanket like she was holding herself together.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, closing the door behind him.
Her nod was too quick. “Yeah. Fine.”
He didn’t believe her. Not for a second. But he also knew better than to push. For now.
He crossed to the chair by the couch and sat, leaning forward on his elbows. “Your mom made it out. Said she’s headed home.”
“Good.” The word was clipped, brittle.
He let it sit. The silence stretched, broken only by the hum of the heater and the faint rattle in her breathing.
In that silence, his heart and his head warred again. Heart begging him to reach for her hand, to tell her she was it for him. Head warning him she’d never believe it, not when she had the whole world waiting to welcome her back.
So he sat there, torn clean in two, praying under his breath for wisdom. For strength. For her.
Juliana didn’t meet his eyes. She fussed with the corner of the blanket instead, pulling at a loose thread until it frayed.
He wanted to ask what her mom had said. Wanted to demand it, if he was honest. But the stubborn set of her jaw told him she wouldn’t answer, and pressing her now would only drive her further away.
So he tried the softer route. “You should get some rest. Fever’s still high.”
She gave him a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Doctor Gideon. Always so bossy.”
Normally, he would’ve teased her back. But tonight, the banter caught in his throat. Because her smile looked tired, her voice was flat, and it felt like she was a hundred miles away, even though he could’ve reached out and touched her hand.
He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms. “I’ll stick around for a bit. In case you need something.”
Her lashes flickered, but she didn’t argue. She just nodded once and turned her face toward the window, as if the dark stretch of night outside held more comfort than he did.
That cut deeper than he’d admit.
He sat there, listening to the quiet rasp of her breathing, the hum of the heater, the creak of the old cabin settling in the cold. Every sound pressed in on him, filling the silence she’d left.
He’d seen that guarded look in Juliana’s eyes before, the one that said she was already bracing for disappointment. He wanted to shake her mom for planting more doubt when Juliana had already been through enough.
He rubbed at the back of his neck, staring at the faint glow of the lamp by the couch.
He should’ve been relieved that Elaine Emerson hadn’t come out swinging with claws and insults—at least not at him.
But the syrupy sweetness in her tone when she’d spoken to him in the hall had unsettled him more than outright hostility ever could.
She hadn’t mentioned the inheritance clause directly, but the way she’d looked at him?
It was like she was appraising a stock option instead of a man.
He hated it.
Hated even more the thought that Juliana might believe her. That she’d start second-guessing every kind gesture, every joke, every look he gave her—wondering if it was love or just convenience.
His gut twisted. That wasn’t what this was. Not even close. He wanted her, not the ranch. He’d spent his whole life trying not to get weighed down by expectations, and now the only future he could picture with any clarity was one with Juliana in it.
Still, logic kept whispering in the back of his mind.
She deserved someone with polish, someone who wouldn’t make her feel like she had to clean up after him.
Someone who wouldn’t hand her a plate of questionable gas station curry and call it dinner.
He wasn’t that guy. And maybe she knew it.
Maybe that’s what the distance was about.
He shifted in the chair, elbows on his knees, staring at his clasped hands.
Every instinct in him wanted to fight for her.
To stay planted right here at her side until she looked at him again like she had on the trail, like he was the only one in her world.
But the part of him that had lived long enough to know better whispered that love didn’t always win. Sometimes, it just wasn’t enough.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, then leaned back, forcing his shoulders against the creaky wood of the chair. For now, all he could do was stay put. Keep watch. And pray like crazy that she’d wake up tomorrow and still want him here.