move this junk out eventually, anyway. To my understanding all of it came with the house. Lorna acquired it when she bought the place from Len Turner, and who knows where Len got it all? It may have been junk that renters left behind when they moved away over the years before Len even bought it. Some of this stuff certainly looks old enough.”
While they’d been speaking, Gideon had poked around the room and now stopped in front of a large armoire piled high with ancient catalogs and other random objects. “This wardrobe looks solid. If we could park it in front of the door it would keep out just about anyone.”
The idea sounded good to Maggie. “It looks like it will fit through the doorway. Let’s get it cleared off.” She plucked up an old paperboard globe that teetered atop a stack of books on the armoire and set it out of the way.
Gideon followed suit, hefting the entire stack of books in one armload. “Do you think you can help me carry it?” he asked from behind the dusty stack of hardcovers. “It looks heavy.”
Feeling only slightly injured by his words, Maggie defended herself. “I may be short, but I’m strong. I’m used to lifting children in the pediatric unit all the time.” Feeling the need to prove herself, she shouldered a large box, which looked only slightly heavy until she felt its full weight. About that same time she realized she wasn’t sure where to put it down.
“Got a spot for this?” she asked, her embarrassment increasing when she realized the strain carried clearly through her voice.
“Here you go.” Gideon quickly moved aside some bottles from a dresser top, revealing just enough space for the box.
Maggie staggered in that direction and felt the aging cardboard giving way.
Before she could warn him, she tipped in Gideon’s direction and felt his strong arms brush hers as he lifted the crumbling box from her shoulders, depositing it on the dresser before the cardboard gave out completely.
“Okay, so maybe not that strong,” she admitted, em barrassed.
“Actually, I’m impressed you were able to carry that thing at all. It must weigh a hundred pounds.” He peeled back a loose cardboard flap. “This is full of old window weights.”
“Not worth keeping, in my opinion,” Maggie determined, brushing the dust from her hands onto her jeans.
“Yeah, I wonder if any of this stuff has value. Some of the old furniture pieces might be antiques, but a lot of it just looks like junk.”
Maggie scrunched her nose at him. “I suppose I should sort through it as I go. Anything that appears valuable I can take to an antiques dealer, but the rest I’ll just toss. And if I find anything that looks suspicious…” Her throat tightened as she spoke the word her father had used to describe whatever he’d found in the basement—the thing that may have gotten him killed.
“I’ll help,” Gideon offered.
Though she appreciated his offer, Maggie shook her head. “I don’t want to waste your time with sorting through things. There are plenty of projects upstairs that could use your skills—” She stopped midsentence as Gideon’s hand touched her arm. In the dank chill of the basement, the brush of his fingers felt warm against her skin. She looked up to see his obsidian eyes glittering down at her.
“If it’s all right with you, I’d just like to help. Pro bono. I know Bernie closed this case, but in my mind, there’s something down here. I want to try to find it. For your dad.” Gideon’s voice grew a little deeper, a little huskier, and Maggie wondered if maybe his flint-hard exterior guarded a soft heart. “This project is for the children’s hospital, right? I can’t take money from sick kids.”
Her mouth fell open slightly, and she was distinctly aware of his hand on her arm. Still. Wishing her thoughts would catch up with his words, Maggie struggled to clarify. “You’re not going to charge me for the time we spend sorting through the stuff in this basement?”
“No.” His tone told her she’d gotten it wrong.
Had she misunderstood?
Gideon continued. “I’m not going to charge you for my time, period. Let me work on your house for free. I’m still drawing pay as sheriff. I can’t in good conscience allow you—”
“I can’t in good conscience allow you to volunteer your time and expertise,” Maggie cut him off and stepped away. She pulled her arm away from his touch, which, slight and simple as it might have been, somehow felt too intimate coming from the handsome lawman, especially when he was making such a generous offer.
But even as she stepped away from him, Gideon followed her, his broad shoulders cutting into her personal space. She wanted to take another step back, but she was hemmed in by piles of junk on three sides. Gideon looked down at her, his expression far too compassionate.
“Maggie, please. I can’t sleep at night. I messed up a lot of things. I missed the clues that should have told me my brother was running drugs. If I’d have gotten here sooner, maybe your dad wouldn’t have died. I have enough regrets in my life. Can you just let me do something that will bring me some peace?”
His powerful shoulders loomed at eye level, but what drew her gaze were his eyes that glittered with unshed tears. Maggie got the distinct sense the hardened sheriff didn’t let many people see this raw, vulnerable side of him. Something tugged at the depths of her heart.
The Bromley family had never been churchgoing folks that she’d ever known of. Was it possible that Gideon was facing all these trials without a faith in God to fall back on? She couldn’t imagine going through what he was in the midst of, let alone enduring it without God.
His voice rumbled close to her, his tone almost pleading. “If your father was murdered, then his killer is still out there. I need to catch him.”
At that reminder, Maggie glanced to the shallow window that looked out on the underside of some bushes outside. Was the killer still out there?
Gideon continued with steady words. “I don’t want to frighten you, but, Maggie, your father placed that phone call from his cell phone as he was working in the backyard of this house. In order for his killer to have overheard that conversation, he would have had to have been watching and listening very closely.”
Fear trembled through her, and Gideon’s steadying hands grasped her shoulders. This time, instead of pushing him away, she reached for him, and let her small hands settle over his shirtsleeves. Gideon Bromley had always frightened her. But her father’s killer frightened her even more.
“Do you think he’s still out there, watching and listening?” Her question came out as a hollow squeak.
As she watched, the muscles in Gideon’s stony jaw tightened and flexed. His determined eyes looked hard. “If he is, I intend to catch him before he can hurt anyone else. Will you let me help you?”
What could she say? She suspected Gideon needed her help almost as much as she needed his, if the hardened man was ever going to be at peace. So really, the decision was a simple one. “I’d be grateful if you did.”
Gideon set to work right away, methodically going through every last trinket and scrap of paper. Much of it didn’t appear to have ever been touched—which made it less likely to have been the suspicious object Glen had called him to report. To his relief, Maggie appeared to be just as organized
