Holding Out For A Hero: SEALs, Soldiers, Spies, Cops, FBI Agents and Rangers (79 page)

He leaned back in the comfortable seat of his customary booth and squinted through the large plate-glass window at the picturesque main street of his hometown. Other than the lack of choice feminine companionship, Rossdale wasn’t that bad a place to live. Rural, but close enough to the ski areas to have plenty of tourist potential. Low crime rate, winning high school football season. Yeah, it should be a good town. It had been once. But the last seven years had taken their toll. Gideon stared out the window, barely noticing the cracked sidewalk or its barrelful of flowers wilting in the morning sun’s weak rays.

“Gideon, glad to find you here.”

“Hey, Fred.” Gideon gestured to the seat across from him. “Take a load off. Coffee?”

“Sure ’nuff.” Fred Ambrose heaved himself into the booth with a grunt and waved Marcia and her blessed coffee pot over. Graying and husky, Fred ran the General Store with his wife, Reba, as well as the auction house with his brother, Lenny.

Knowing Fred’s penchant for complaining, Gideon nodded at Marcia’s offer to refill his cup and ordered a piece of pie. Might as well get comfortable.

Two bites into his runny lemon meringue and Gideon began to space out as Fred ranted about the land next to his. Some fancy-ass Californian had bought the property a few years back, and it’d gone downhill fast. Since it was Fred’s favorite bitch, Gideon didn’t have to listen too closely. He’d heard it a million times before.

Gideon winked his thanks to Marcia as she refilled his cup. He carefully cut the last piece of lemon and meringue away from the blackened edge of the crust and wished old Joe would find a decent cook. Even a diehard pie man like himself was having trouble choking down the offerings lately.

“Now I’m fine letting things be,” Fred stated. “You know that, Gideon.”

Gideon figured it was an ode to his momma’s upbringing that he didn’t snort aloud at the claim.

“But Reba, she’s all up in arms and having fits. Something has to be done, I tell ya.”

“What’s Reba having trouble with?”
This time
went unspoken. It wasn’t like Fred needed reminding that his wife always had issue with something.

“That rental, the old Henderson place, it’s a mess. Been vacant for eight months now and it’s in even worse shape than before. Damned shame, since it’s sitting on prime land. Reba looks right out our bathroom window at that mess and just howls with the shame of it all.”

Having tiled their bathroom the summer before, Gideon knew Reba would’ve had to be standing on the toilet to peer out that window and do her howling. But he let it pass with a sympathetic grunt.

“Now Reba’s thinking there’s no reason she can’t just borrow a bit of that overgrown mess of land to plant a few flowers. Prime soil, you know. She had it tested and everything.”

“C’mon, Fred. You know better than that. Someone owns that property. You can’t just help yourself to the land so your wife can have her way with the flowerbeds. It isn’t right.”

“Gideon, I tell ya. Reba, she’s depressed as hell over the loss of our flower shop. You know how hard it was for her to close the doors. It was harder still losing her daddy’s land to the bank. All that prime soil, sitting fallow. It just about drives her crazy.”

Gideon grimaced. The bad economy had hit everyone. Between that, the crazies who lived out by the lake, and all the trouble they stirred up, it was getting to be hard for any business to survive in Rossdale. Reba Ambrose had prided herself in that flower shop. She’d grown her own posies, handling all the church functions, weddings, and funerals from here to McCade.

“Look, Fred, you have my sympathies.” They shared a knowing look, both aware of the sad state of things. Especially when it came to an unhappy woman. “But I can’t do anything. Talk to Reggie,” he said, referring to the mayor. “See if he’ll put you in touch with the homeowner or something. Maybe Reba can rent a patch of dirt.”

“Gideon, you know damned well Reggie is about as useless as tits on a boar.”

Gideon pushed his plate away, satisfied he’d distracted Fred from his land-lust for the moment.

“Damn shame that man’s sitting in your daddy’s seat,” Fred continued. “That’s just wrong. Lucas Ross was the best mayor Rossdale ever had, and you’re his spittin’ image. People look to you for answers. I don’t see why you don’t just step up to the plate and take on the job like you’re supposed to.”

Gideon had obviously picked the wrong topic for distraction. He took another sip of his coffee and pursed his lips. It’d lost some of its flavor, although that could be due to the current conversation.

“Fred, tell ya what. I’ll bring my mower by, clean up the property so it’s not such an eyesore for Reba. Maybe if she’s not staring at it and fuming about the mess, she’ll quit jonesin’ to plant something pretty on it and go putter in her own dirt instead.”

Fred worked his jaw, jowls swaying to and fro as he mulled it over. Finally he nodded. But Gideon could see from the look in the old guy’s eyes he wouldn’t be giving up his nagging. Elections were coming and Fred—and most of the cronies of Gideon’s late father—were dead set on putting a Ross back in the mayor’s seat.

Too bad for them. ’Cause if there was one thing guaranteed to destroy whatever hopes the town still had for survival, it was Gideon’s butt in that seat.

“Morning, gentlemen.”

“Gene,” they greeted the newcomer who elbowed Fred over and settled into the booth. As lanky as Fred was wide but just as gray, Gene Crandall had retired the year before as editor of the The Rossdale Sentinel.

After sharing pleasantries and pouring a steady stream of sugar into the cup of coffee Marcia set in front of him, Gene turned his watery blue eyes on Gideon. Without preamble, he jumped right into his version of the town’s favorite anthem,
who’s to blame for our woes
.

“Now I realize Reggie feels we need the property taxes from those yahoos out by the lake, but I’ve just about had enough of their shenanigans,” Gene said with a ponderous frown. “The wild parties they throw are enough to drive an old man crazy. That drumming gets so loud, you can hear it a mile away. Last week, someone took spray paint to my tractor.”

“I heard about that,” Gideon admitted. “But the lake people are mostly adults, not a bunch of crazy kids. You know that. I can’t imagine them running around spraying graffiti on farm equipment. Why do you think it was them?”

“I caught the license plate of the van they were in as they hightailed it off my property. California plates, which points right to them crazies.”

Gideon smothered a sigh. The only thing the old-timers in this town hated more than the people living out at the lake were outsiders. Especially Californians.

“Gene, just because the plates might have said California, that doesn’t tie them in with the... lake people.”

“You can’t even say it.”

“I think it’s—”

“See, Fred, he can’t even say it.”

“Well, he’s got a point, Gene. It’s not something I like saying aloud either.”

“I’m not afraid to say anything,” Gideon snapped. Serving six years in the freaking U.S. Army should have proved that. He’d fought for his country and he’d show them what afraid was, dammit. He sucked in a deep breath to calm himself before he ended up calling a couple of old men out behind the diner to kick their asses, then continued smoothly, “I simply don’t see any point in perpetuating a stupid rumor.”

“See, that’s denial, Gideon. You’re in denial.”

“It’s not denial to disagree.”

“You mean to say you really don’t think them yahoos out by the lake are a cult? You’re kidding, right?”

“He’s right, Gideon.” Fred gave a sage nod. “Before he left town, my grandson claims he saw them doing some kind of ritual out there. They’ve laid claim to that old fairy tale, that one about free love. I hear they do quite a bit of free loving out there under the full moon.”

Gideon grimaced. Damn, he hated when conversations veered into the woo-woo area. He hated all talk of magic. But he knew the fairy tale Fred referred to. Rossdale legend had it that Gideon’s own great-great grandpa, Hiram Ross, saved a beautiful woman from a mountain slide and earned her everlasting gratitude. The woman, per the legend, was a witch who blessed the town with peace and prosperity as long as they welcomed faith, magic, and love. There was even a statue in the town square commemorating the story.

Not that anyone believed it anymore. But that didn’t stop people from using the tale as fuel for their crazy cult claims. The homestead out by the lake had been formed about forty years back by some disgruntled townspeople who objected to the legend being brushed off as a silly tale and ignored. Instead of letting the legend die, a few hardy souls had moved to the far edges of the town limits and formed their own... community, for want of a better term. Up until about five years back, they’d gotten along fine with the rest of the town.

“Gene, you go around calling them a cult, you’re gonna stir up anger and scare people. All that will do is create more problems.” And the last thing Rossdale needed was more problems. It was fast turning into a dried up town on the verge of extinction as it was. “If you have to call them anything, try... I don’t know, commune? It’s less inflammatory.”

Instead of the expected scowl, Gene beamed at him. Gideon narrowed his eyes.

“See, it’s clear headed thinking like that we need running this town, Gideon. You’ve your daddy’s brain, that’s for sure.”

Before Gideon could reply—hell before he could even modify his initial response into polite terms, Fred grunted and shook his head.

“Well, well. Here comes another one.”

They all peered out the window at the U-Haul van cruising down Main Street.

“Bets?” Fred asked. Gideon shook his head. He wasn’t much into the entertainment of betting on where the newest resident was from and how long they’d last. They got about a dozen new residents in Rossdale a year. Most didn’t last more than three months.

“Long as it isn’t California,” Gene said with a long-suffering sigh. “Them people must be bred to cause a ruckus. Movie types, rich and snooty folk and silicone boo—um, filled women. All with no respect for the way things are done.”

The van drove past and the men all gave an appreciative sigh over the Beemer it was towing. Then Fred and Gene groaned in concert when they saw the California license plates on the prime piece of machinery.

Gideon couldn’t work up the energy to care. It really didn’t matter where the people were from. They weren’t the answer. The town was sinking fast, and definitely needed new blood, but he’d learned long ago not to expect people to stick around. No, the town needed help but it wouldn’t be coming from an outside source.

Out of defense for his sanity, Gideon blocked out his companions’ continued bitching and watched the van stop at the corner gas station. The passenger door opened, and Gideon caught his breath at the sight that followed. Long, shapely, and oddly mouthwatering, given the distance and fact that he couldn’t make out anything but her height and general shape. A curtain of dark hair hid her face, but her movements and the slow, easy grace of her mile-long stride, made Gideon’s heart beat just a little faster. How long were those legs?

Well, well. Things just might be looking up around here after all. Not that he figured she’d stick around. But it was definitely worth checking to see if she was single. Maybe he’d have something other than coffee to smile about some morning soon.

“Gideon, dear? Isn’t it awfully late in the day for you to be lollygagging around?”

Nothing burst a hot sexual fantasy faster than the sound of a mother’s voice. Gideon grimaced, tucked his lustful musings away, and faced his mother.

“Morning, Mom.”

Gideon could see why most of the town figuratively bowed down to Deloris Ross. A force to be reckoned with, a strong, robust woman in her late fifties, she looked ten years older and had the energy of a lady half her age. Graying and reed thin, she wore her late husband’s wedding band on a chain around her neck for all to see. In his uncharitable moments, Gideon wondered if that was to keep the fact front and center in the townspeople’s minds that she’d been the mayor’s wife.

“Don’t you have clients or something?” she asked, her tone oddly defensive. “Is that what you learned in the Army? How to sit around on your butt all day.”

No. He’d learned to take orders, he’d learned to build things and he’d learned to kick ass. But he didn’t figure his mother cared about that. Deloris had never gotten over Gideon’s defection to the military, even if it had only been for six years. Her attitude might have something to do with his bringing home a bride, even if the bride had long since fled Rossdale and Gideon. Then again, in his brutally honest moments, Gideon had to admit he hadn’t quite forgiven himself for that part, either.

He made a show of leaning his arm along the back of the bench seat and taking a slow sip of his lukewarm coffee. “Not many people in Rossdale needing a contractor this morning.”

His official title in his one-man company was General Contractor. Sadly, it didn’t bring in diddly for income. So Gideon sidelined as a general handyman. In all truth, it was more accurate that he sidelined as a contractor, but Deloris Ross had delusions of grandeur.

“Well, don’t you have a wall to hammer or a roof to repair?” she shot back in an irate tone.

Gideon’s brows rose.

“Trying to get rid of me, Mom?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Gideon. I’m always pleased to see you. I just didn’t... expect to see you here. Now.”

Gideon narrowed his eyes when she exchanged an odd, almost guilty look with Fred and Gene. One hand clenched around the bamboo handle of her straw purse, the other clutched something behind her back.

“Whatch’ya got there?”

“Please, Gideon. Mind your own business.”

Since Deloris made a point to interfere in every aspect of the town’s—most especially her only child’s—business, Gideon figured turnabout was fair play. Whatever she was sporting
was
his business. Unless it was an ad she’d brought Gene to run in the personals. He snickered at the idea and crooked his finger. This should be good.