A Time to Keep by Rochelle Alers Read Free Book Online

given up hope that you’d come,” he said in a quiet voice, as she stared up at him. No doubt she was as shocked to see him, as he was she.
    Gwen recognized Shiloh’s voice before she realized he was out of uniform. Today he wore a light blue chambray shirt over a pair of jeans. His eyes were a deep moss green, the color contrasting his rich, sun-browned face. Her gaze shifted from the sheriff to the other man staring at her with an expectant expression. He had rakishly long silver hair that framed an unlined slender face with electric blue eyes and delicate features, which were better suited for a woman.
    â€œAren’t you going to introduce me to the lady?” François asked Shiloh in a Creole dialect.
    Tightening his hold on Gwen’s fingers, he pulled her hand into the bend of his elbow. A slow smile softened his mouth. “Step off, Broussard, before I kick your ass,” he threatened quietly in the same dialect. Turning his attention to Gwen, he gave her a wide grin. “Are you hungry, darling?”
    â€œStarved,” she answered truthfully, although completelyconfused by the interaction between Shiloh and the man he’d called Broussard.
    The conversations that had stopped when Gwen walked into the Outlaw started up again. Surreptitious stares were directed at François as he retreated to his table in a corner. Most of the men were silently applauding Shiloh’s attempt to thwart another conquest for the arrogant, egotistical artist.
    Shiloh led Gwen back to his table, pulled out a chair for her, then sat opposite her. His breathing deepened. The woman sitting only a few feet away was so ardently feminine that he found drawing a normal breath difficult.
    Gwen forced herself not to stare at Shiloh’s sandwich. Shredded lettuce, thinly sliced tomatoes, and a pile of golden fried oysters and shrimp were nestled between two slices of toasted French bread. A smaller plate held a cup of tartar sauce and lemon wedges.
    Leaning over the small round table, she said, “Why did you call me darling?”
    Ignoring her query, Shiloh picked up the plates and placed them in front of her. “You said you were starved, so please eat.”
    Her dark eyes widened. “I can’t take your lunch.”
    â€œYes, you can.” Pushing back from the table, he stood up. “I’ll order another one.”
    Gwen watched Shiloh’s broad shoulders under the crisp shirt as he made his way toward the back of the restaurant and disappeared through a pair of swinging louvered doors. He looked equally good in or out of uniform, in dim or bright light, coming or going. Whoever claimed Shiloh Harper as boyfriend, fiancé or husband was one lucky woman. The word darling had rolled off his tongue as smoothly as watered silk. Some of the men she’d known thought calling her baby was the ultimate endearment. She’d permitted only one man to call her baby, and that man was Millard Taylor—her father,because he’d declared emphatically that she would always be his baby girl regardless of her age.
    She squeezed a wedge of lemon over the mound of fried seafood, followed with a spoonful of tartar sauce, before topping it off with a small amount of hot pepper sauce. She picked up the sandwich and took a bite. A myriad of flavors tantalized her palate as she chewed slowly. Never had she eaten something so incredibly delectable. The lightly battered oysters and shrimp, the sweetness of the tartar sauce, and the sharp pungent bite of the hot sauce created a bouquet of flavors that literally exploded in her mouth. She’d eaten half of the sandwich before Shiloh returned with another one.
    He sat down, smiling. “Do you like it?”
    Dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin, Gwen sighed and closed her eyes. “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven when I took the first bite,” she said when she opened her eyes to meet his amused